The Gemino Glitch
by NightBurd
Summary: Many gamers dream of their favourite series becoming a reality. Rebecca has her dreams fulfilled; but while stumbling through Skyrim, she finds herself trapped in this deadly virtual reality, struggling not just to survive, but to fulfil her destiny as the Dragonborn. And the situation only complicates when it becomes apparent that she's not the only one... M themes but mostly T :)
1. Chapter 1

Our story begins in London, where the sun rose bright and early on the last day of the week, its golden beams streaming into the bedroom and catching specks of dust as they swirled in the air. The late summer morning carried a faint chill in the breeze, as if to warn that this temperate season couldn't last forever. In England, autumn was never far away. Inches away from the sun's rays lay a girl, on a bed in the centre of the room, wrapped in a cocoon of sheets and blankets. She groaned as the light crept towards her, rolling over and covering her eyes with one arm lazily thrown over her face. The birds sung outside, bidding her welcome to the day and begging her out of bed. Try as she might to fall back into the lull of the dream world, her eyes and ears were rousing to the signs of morning all around her.

"Becky!"

A voice called from beneath her, down a flight of stairs, and the girl groaned again. But this time she sat up, reluctantly acknowledging her consciousness and scratching her head as she blinked one green eye open.

"Yeah, I'm up." she groaned, quiet enough that her inquisitor continued to shout.

"Becky, dear, are you awake?"

"Yes, Mum!" she called back, louder, rubbing her face and swinging her legs over the side of her bed. She heard the patter of feet up her stairway and anticipated the knock on her door with another groan.

"Can I come in?" Rebecca's mother eased the door open, beaming at her daughter. Rebecca gestured dismissively, as if to say 'Why not? You're already here'. Unfortunately, she was in no state to beam back, and simply glared at her mother, her eyes still narrowed to the light.

"I'm going out to walk the dog, but I'll be back soon." she told her daughter, perching on the end of the bed and tucking a strand of auburn hair behind Rebecca's ear. The girl grimaced and batted her away.

"Fine." She reached towards a bottle of water on her bedside table and took a swig.

"Oh, it's so lovely to have you back from university for the holidays!" Without warning, her mother lunged at Rebecca and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Her daughter spluttered, the older woman's arms pressing down on her throat.

"Mum, you're on my windpipe!" she gasped.

"Oops!" her mother giggled, standing again and wiping a drop from her daughter's chin. "Have some breakfast if you're peckish. And don't go on that blasted machine while I'm out!" she called over her shoulder as she descended. Rebecca eased back against her pillows, her eyes drifting shut as she listened for the dog barking and then the sound of the door slamming from far below. But as soon as she heard the key turn in the lock, she threw back the covers, yanked on some trackies and a hoodie, and raced down the stairs to her brother's room, where the Xbox lay dormant in his absence.

She grinned at the familiar startup _ding!_ of the console as she turned on her controller, her eyes scanning along the rack of games at her fingertips. Which life did she want to live today? Alien warfare with the fate of the planet resting on her battered assault rifle? Perhaps a stint as a Crusader with a bloody past and a talent with knives?

No – after studying hard at school for a term without her gaming computer or a console in sight, there was but one story that Rebecca wished to relive for her first weekend back home. She felt a shiver as the black screen in front of her began to smoke, and a distant chant called out to her from within the TV.

She sank into the end of her brother's bed, tipping her head back to revel for a moment as the chant grew louder and louder, until it evolved into the iconic Dovahkiin song. She sang along quietly under her breath, scrolling through her previous saves and checking out where she wanted to go, and how to get there. Not wishing to launch straight back into a level 60 character, with ebony armour and a disappointing Alduin to face, she chose to start a new game – mods off. Something that she hadn't attempted in a long time.

The singing stopped abruptly, and was replaced by a loading screen. Her love for the game ran so deeply that even the appearance of the studio title on screen made her want to squeal with excitement. But just as the clip-clopping of the opening audio sounded, the screen froze, and minimised until it was barely the size of a matchbox.

"Oh- what!" Rebecca protested, standing up and leaning closer to the television. Squinting to get a better look, she realised that the graphics and audio were in fact still working, just on a much smaller scale. She reached to tap the screen, but instead found it getting larger. Relieved that the game was working again, Rebecca moved to sit back down on the bed. But her hands grabbed at empty air, and she let out a scream as she realised that the screen was not growing, but rushing up towards her, wind flying through her hair as a small, wooden cart came closer and closer until-

 **BAM!**

With a start, Rebecca looked up, brushing the hair from her face and gasping in shock to find that she was no longer in her brother's bedroom, but in a wagon, bumping along a cobblestone road in a pine forest. It was jarring to find the sounds of woodland animals and the scents of flowers so terrifying, but despite the therapeutic setting, every fibre of her being was screaming internally. She looked down to see not her trackies and hoodie, but a rough spun tunic, yellow in colour and scratching against her chest.

"Hey, you're finally awake."

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with fear. She knew that voice. But although the man it belonged to heralded no imminent danger, Rebecca flinched as she took in the soldier sitting in front of her.

"No," she whispered, her eyes threatening to pop out of their sockets. Across the cart from her, sat none other than Ralof of Riverwood, the first character in Skyrim. Her jaw practically fell to the floor as she took him in. Although his features were softer, and less defined than in the game, there was no mistaking his identity; shaggy blonde hair hanging by his shoulders, and a Stormcloak cuirass that clinked with every shake of the carriage. He was unmistakable, despite the twist that reality had taken on his appearance.

"You were trying to cross the border, right?" he asked. Rebecca stared stupidly, unable to make any coherent sound.

"Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us." he added, his voice thick with that familiar yet foreign Nordic accent. Rebecca decided that she must be dreaming, and slapped herself. Hard.

""Hey, what're you doing?"

She looked up, a frown knitting her brows together as Ralof reached to grab her wrist. Their hands touched, his fingers rough and calloused against her palm – skin that had never seen a real day of labour, unlike his. So, he was corporeal then. This was no hallucination. Her own hand had certainly felt real enough against her cheek. But what shocked her most about their interaction was not the discovery of Ralof having a physical form, but his words. She was sure that wasn't a scripted line…he had strayed from the dialogue. But for what?

As she sat in awe of him, the Nord turned his attention away from her, and continued to talk. That's when Rebecca noticed the elf sitting beside her. She was wearing the same tunic, her hands bound just as Ralof's were, and as silent as Rebecca without the expression of utter bewilderment. It occurred to Rebecca for the first time that the man had not been speaking to her, but to this gold-skinned Altmer. Rebecca reached to rub her tired eyes in disbelief as she took in the other two occupants of the carriage, the horse thief and Ulfric Stormcloak himself, bound and gagged in his heavy fur-lined armour. A wave of nausea hit her suddenly, and it wasn't just the lurching of the carriage. If she remembered correctly, that horse thief would be shot dead in a matter of minutes. And if this journey bore any resemblance to the game, then Alduin, World-Eater, would be swooping down to lay destruction and death at the doorstep of Helgen upon their arrival.

Panic took over, and, thinking fast, Rebecca turned on the bench and gripped the side of the carriage, swinging herself over it. As she jumped time seemed to slow, her head turning to watch the Altmer woman as she leaped. There was something about those piercing green eyes, that scar on her cheek…she seemed hauntingly familiar.

"Hey!"

Ralof had stood up in the carriage and was glaring at her. Time sped back up, her bare feet hit the freezing ground and she heard the carriage driver turn in his seat. Rebecca didn't wait to see if he had spotted her.

She whipped off into the woods, pine needles pricking at her feet as she sprinted, faster than she ever had in her life, going where, she wasn't sure. She sped up in spite of her aching muscles as a chorus of angry shouts rose up from the break in the trees. She kept running toward what she hoped was north, aiming to stumble upon the path to Riverwood. But the trees seemed so much taller when they weren't on a screen, and the forest stretched on for an eternity in every direction. Where was a bloody HUD when you needed one?

The yelling subsided behind her as she put more distance between herself and the Imperial soldiers, relief coursing through her as the sounds faded into the distance. But now her mouth tasted of blood, and the pines looked identical as she trekked through the forest in search of a landmark. Perhaps she was near the border? If this was anything like the game, then she wouldn't be able to cross it – what's more, it would likely be manned by more soldiers. And, Rebecca had to admit, a girl with bound hands, wearing nothing but rags would not be assumed innocent, much less pointed in the direction of the nearest town.

A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she stopped to kneel at a stream running alongside her. Looking down into the clear alpine water, Rebecca squinted at her own reflection, fearful that she would find someone else staring back at her. But, to her relief, the girl in the water had the same curly auburn hair, the same green eyes, currently filled with fear, and the same full face dotted with freckles. Yet, although it was certainly a comfort to look herself, she wondered what implications this could have for…whatever this nightmare was turning out to be.

Hearing a twig snap somewhere behind her, Rebecca froze, her eyes widening. She stood up slowly, bending from her aching knees, but it was too late. Before she could even turn in a 45 degree cone, she found a long, glinting silver knife at her throat. The metal was cold against her skin, and pressed so hard that she could feel her own pulse against the blade.

"Do not move." her attacker growled. Rebecca, swallowing, raised her arms above her head and dared to glance down at the hands that held her captive. To her surprise, they were furry, and had long, dark claws where the fingernails should have been. Rebecca felt her stomach drop as she realised that her assailant was not simply a bandit, but a Khajiit, capable of slashing her throat with or without this dagger in his hands. He had also snuck up on her without her notice, which meant he was skilled. She closed her eyes and hoped to high hell he took pity on her.

"Listen, I don't have any valuables, I'm just-"

"Sh!" the Khajiit silenced her with a hiss. He seemed to be listening out for the last of the Imperial soldiers, frogmarching her behind a tree as the voices grew ever fainter. Despite her fear, Rebecca found that part of her was just as anxious to face a Khajiit in real life as she was to be found by the soldiers. The feline race had always looked so artificial in the game, she could only wonder at their real life rendition. When the forest was once again silent but for the wind whistling through the pine trees, he removed the blade from her neck. Rebecca fell in a fit of coughing as air suddenly rushed back into her lungs, hands on her knees as the Khajiit stepped around in front of her.

Upon finally clearing her throat and looking up, the first word that came to mind was magnificent. The feline creature that stood before Rebecca in the woods that day was certainly nothing less. At his full height he was at least a head taller than her, and that was without the long, dark ears that swivelled at every rustle or snap in the branches around them. His fur was a very dark grey, mottled with white patches and black stripes, and he had a slash of scars across the bridge of his pink nose. But it was his eyes that captivated her the most. This khajiit wore light armour, of a dark, black leather, and had a thin, sleek elven sword at his side, but Rebecca could register none of it due to the amber orbs, bright as lamps in the canopy of the woods, set like jewels against the dark frame of his face. He seemed to be watching her, trying to assess whether she posed any threat or not, and Rebecca found herself able to do little else than let him, the memory of his glinting dagger still fresh in her mind.

"You are a prisoner?" he rasped.

Rebecca nodded slowly, fearful of making any sudden moves in case he changed his mind and slashed her throat for good measure. "But not a valuable one," she quickly explained. "My name isn't even on their list." she added, remembering the familiar course of events at Helgen from the game.

The khajiit's mouth twitched in a curious sort of smile. "And what is this one's name, hm?"

"Rebecca," she answered. In the distance, the spine-chilling scream of a dragon split the summer air, bouncing between the trees towards them. The Khajiit whipped around, the hair on the back of his neck rising. "But we'd better get out of here, fast." she added. The cat nodded, his amber eyes betraying no sign of fear.

Without a moment to pause, he raced off into the undergrowth, barely giving Rebecca time to breathe before haring off after him, her lungs heaving. Another roar echoed across the land, making Rebecca shudder as she ran. The dragons sounded significantly more terrifying in reality, and if this was what they sounded like from afar…she could only imagine meeting one face to face. She could barely keep up with the cat, weaving between trees and turning abruptly, as though he followed an invisible path. After what seemed like a millennium, Rebecca's guide stopped at the edge of the tree line, stepping out onto the poorly paved road once again. Warm sunlight washed across her face, reminding her of the morning light that had cut through the dark and dust of her bedroom only minutes ago.

She had to shield her eyes just to get a good look at the land as it fell and rose again in front of them, and, with a gasp, she realised that they had made it on the path to Riverwood. Beneath them was the rushing river itself, glimmering in the daylight as salmon leaped up and out of the current, twirling in the air. She no longer had to imagine its icy cold waters lapping at the rocky banks and rushing down the waterfalls up ahead. It was all here in front of her. Across the valley was Bleak Falls Barrow, in all its stony glory, its giant arches rising like ominous black gates against the snow of the mountain. For the first time, Rebecca took a moment to breath in the beauty of Skyrim in all its reality. An irresistible urge to slap herself arose once more.

Both Khajiit and woman flinched at a third, and more terrifying screech from the dragon. They ducked instinctively beside a large boulder on the side of the road as its terrible figure appeared over head, leaving them in shadow. Its black wings were unfurled and beating against the sky furiously, its jaw agape as though ready to lay waste to all it saw at any given moment. When it had vanished behind the mountain and into the clouds, the Khajiit leaped gracefully up onto the boulder balancing on the balls of his feet to try and get another glimpse.

"What in Oblivion…?" he murmured, watching the skies with those guarded orange eyes.

"Alduin, the World-Eater," Rebecca told him, her voice hoarse. The Khajiit tilted his head to one side. "A dragon." she clarified.

"It came from Helgen, yes? This is where you were?" he asked, his eyes narrowed into slits.

Rebecca swallowed nervously, deciding not to get into the details of her brush with execution. Or of how she accidentally tumbled into a fictional world and was now very non-fictionally homeless, friendless, and…hungry. "Yes."

He took out an apple and began to peel it with the same dagger that was moments ago pressed against her skin. Rebecca couldn't help but stare, realizing that she hadn't eaten yet that day and had since done a great deal of running for her life. The Khajiit looked at her with that curious smile once again, and patted the space next to him gently, as if motioning for her to join him. Rebecca raised her eyebrows in surprise. But she knew that she was in no position to question his motives, and scrabbled up the rock to join him.

"This ones name is T'ariq." he told her, shaking his long dark mane in the breeze. "And he is very interested-"

T'ariq lowered his blade, twirling it between his fingertips and causing Rebecca to inhale sharply as he sliced the twine binding her hands in two.

"-in who you are, and how you came to be here." he ended. Rebecca breathed out a sigh that she didn't know she had been holding in, and shook out her wrists, enjoying the mobility in her hands once more. When she looked up again she found T'ariq holding out a piece of apple in his clawed paws. Rebecca glance at him warily, but saw nothing in his eyes except kindness. She thanked him, and took the fruit.

Rebecca chose her words carefully. "I was imprisoned by the Imperials – _wrongly_." She bit down on the crisp, green fruit after she spoke, making it clear that this was all she intended to share. Besides, this cat had been tempted to kill her just minutes ago – now was hardly the time to confess that she was from another world.

T'ariq purred in amusement.

"This one does not care whether you are a criminal or you are not," he mrrowed. "T'ariq is merely curious."

But as Rebecca watched him peel another apple in his furry palms, she was the one who grew curious. Oddly enough, she didn't remember T'ariq from any town or quest in Skyrim, which was strange in itself, since she had completed enough playthroughs to have met all the characters in the game. She was also still unsure as to whether she should trust him or not. But, considering that she had no other options, and he was willing to share some food, it seemed she had no choice.

""To where are you next headed?" he asked, running his claws up and down one furry arm lazily. Rebecca shrugged, still savouring every bite of her apple for fear that she would be offered no more.

"I don't know." she admitted. She remembered that traditionally, her next stop should be Riverwood and then Whiterun, to warn the hold about the dragon in Helgen. But this was clearly no longer just a video game – maybe it didn't run the same way?

"Where is your kin?" T'ariq asked.

Rebecca shrugged again, this time with a heavy heart.

"They're not here." her voice cracked as she spoke.

Suddenly the weight of her situation had come crashing down on top of her, and the girl found her eyes burning as she swallowed a lump in her throat. How was she supposed to get out? How could she get back home? She had barely been in this crazy dream for half an hour and already she had been captured, chased and attacked by strange men all with very big weapons. In the game, it was much simpler. In the game, she simply pressed a button and found her character standing in steel plate armour and cutting down bad guys left and right. But Rebecca wasn't like that. Rebecca was a student, she had never worn armour in her life, much less wielded a sword. The threat of death in this world and its unknown consequences for hers landed heavily as it occurred to her just how vulnerable she was.

Rebecca felt a furry paw placed on her shoulder, and looked up to see T'ariq's eyes shining with surprising warmth. "Do not worry little one," he purred. "This one will take you to the nearest town. He can get you clothes and a bed for the night."

Rebecca managed to smile weakly. "Thank you." she sniffed. Rebecca then wiped her nose angrily on the sleeve of her tunic, feeling silly for crying in front of what she assumed to be a highly trained warrior. "Actually," she added, a thought rising to mind. "I need to go to Whiterun. To warn the Jarl about the dragon attack…would you happen to be going that way?"

T'ariq tipped his head to the side again, considering it. His tail twitched as he began to nod slowly. "It can be so. But we will not make it to Whiterun before the night. It is best to stay in Riverwood for today." he concluded. Rebecca nodded in agreement.

"Of course." she smiled, feeling a little more relieved at having concrete plans and a guide, despite knowing the whole province herself like the back of her hand. Although, assuming that she hadn't yet gone completely insane, Rebecca was fully expecting to wake up in her brother's bedroom as soon as her head hit the pillow in the Sleeping Giant Inn.

"Where are you journeying to?" she asked politely, dipping her head in thanks as T'ariq handed her another slice of apple.

"It is not yet clear," He swung his broad head from side to side as he spoke. "T'ariq seeks a noble quest that will bring him honour and glory. But, for now, there is honour enough in helping a lost kit." he purred. Rebecca smiled at him gratefully. She definitely didn't remember a khajiit as kind as this in the Elder Scrolls series.

"Come." he slid off the rock and landed with perfect poise. He lent her a paw to help her down before tossing his apple peel into the bushes. "We had better make for Riverwood before the sun dips beneath the mountains."

 **AN: Thanks for reading!** This is a twist on the classic gamer's-dream-come-true trope, but it also features OC's and plenty of your favourite characters. The rating is M for only a very few scenes in the entire story, and I will always warn when they occur. I upload as regularly as I can, and would love any reviews or PMs with suggestions :)

Anyways, enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Walking into Riverwood was nothing if not surreal. As with everything thusfar in Skyrim, it all seemed familiar to Rebecca and yet vastly different. Of course, this was hardly surprising considering the switch from pixels on a screen to tangible, real life locations. Aside from T'ariq in the place of Ralof or Hadvar, their wander through the town followed script exactly. The old woman shouted about seeing a dragon, making one of T'ariq's ears twitch, and no one believed her, as usual. The heavy thud of an axe and the splitting of wood could be heard from behind the lumber mill, and thick-set Nord men were all about, swords slung casually on every belt. Rebecca went slack-jawed at the sight of Faendal in reality, his thin, pointed ears and almond-shaped eyes a wholly new experience for her. The quiver slung across his back rattled with arrows when he walked past them.

It was truly strange to her to walk through a town set in such a medieval era, where the sounds of busy urban life were of vendors selling fresh produce, and the rumble of wooden carts clunking along the stone pavement instead of the whirring of construction sites, or the roaring of cars. And yet despite her traumatic morning, the gamer inside of Rebecca was practically screaming at seeing her favourite immersive experience come to life. If this was a dream, she thought, she could certainly stand to bear it a little longer.

T'ariq was true to his word, leading her inside the Riverwood Trader, an experience which wasn't quite as climactic when you could simply open a door without the loading screen. The moment they entered, right on cue, Camilla and Lucan Valerius began to bicker about the Golden Claw. They did not stop as the visitors stood waiting to be addressed, leaving T'ariq shuffling awkwardly on the stone floor as if he wasn't sure how to proceed. Finally in her own element, Rebecca stepped toward the siblings with a smile. They cut off abruptly as she approached, staring at her with an intensity that mirrored the game to an almost comical extent.

"Excuse me, but what seems to be the problem?" she asked genially. Lucan rolled his eyes.

"We had a bit of a…break-in. But we still have plenty to sell!" he reassured her. "Robbers were only after one thing. An ornament, solid gold. In the shape of a dragon's claw."

Rebecca nodded slowly, finding it hard to keep a sly smile from spreading across her lips.

"Oh no, I'm sorry to hear that." she lied. "I'm sure you want it back quite urgently."

"Yes, we do." Camilla piped up.

"Well that's funny, because my friend here has been looking for a noble task, haven't you T'ariq?" Rebecca motioned to the Khajiit, who had picked up a little silver figurine and was sniffing it. He stiffened upon mention and turned to face the shopkeepers, lowering the statuette and clearing his throat.

"Well…yes, this one supposes he could help." he shrugged.

"You could? I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you bring my claw back," Lucan looked longingly at the spot on the counter where the large golden claw usually rested. "If you're going after those thieves, you should head to Bleak Falls Barrow, northeast of town."

Rebecca barely managed to stifle a giggle as T'ariq reluctantly agreed to return their claw. But he maintained his civility, showing no clear protestation until he had bought Rebecca a dagger, some sweetrolls and a simple red dress. The moment they stepped back out into the moutain air, he rounded on her.

"Do not mistake, little kit," he growled, his eyes forming little slits that glowed like the setting sun behind him. "This one does truly seek a noble quest, and wishes to help you. But he does not mean to delve into a crypt of thieves and undead by himself for a stranger."

Rebecca raised a finger pointedly and shot her new friend a smile as they stepped inside the Sleeping Giant Inn. A blast of warm air, the sounds of laughter, and the clinking of tankards welcomed them inside.

"Trust me T'ariq, this is worth it. And you won't be alone – I'll help you!" she beamed up at him. T'ariq stopped walking and looked down at her.

"You are certainly much less anxious now," he admitted. "But this one fears you will still be of little help against the draugr."

Rebecca knew he had a point, her smile fading as flashes of the snarling, grey-skinned zombies of Skyrim's ancient burial crypts popped into her mind.

"Well, with this," she held up the steel dagger in her hand. "And this," she pointed to T'ariq with a smile. "I'm sure we'll be fine. Besides, you can teach me how to fight as we go. Or, do you know any magic?"

T'ariq nodded. "Yes, this one is a spellsword by trade."

Rebecca's eyes widened again, but this time due to excitement. She found herself looking down at his paws, as if expecting to see a ball of magical fire in his very hands.

"Could you show me?" she asked, her voice breathless. T'ariq purred again and took a step towards the counter, where Orgnar stood, scratching his chin.

"We would like a room with two beds for this night, if you would." T'ariq requested. Orgnar eyed him suspiciously but bent down to retrieve a brass key and place it on the counter without comment.

"That'll be twenty septims." he growled. T'ariq delved a hand into a leather pouch on his side, placing the heavy gold coins on the counter. He fished out two more and tossed them to Orgnar.

"This one also wants two soups of potato and a bottle of wine." he added, walking away without pausing for the innkeeper's response.

The pair headed towards a couple of chairs a little way removed from the fireplace and the drunkards sharing stories of drink, danger and women.

Rebecca visited their room briefly to change out of the itchy tunic and into her new dress. It was quite the task to put it on, as she had never laced up a corset on herself. The material was better than the roughspun rags but still less than comfortable, more so because Rebecca hadn't worn clothes without a bra since she was just eleven years old. It felt deeply wrong to walk around with no support for her breasts and nothing but the flimsy crimson fabric to conceal them. She made a mental note to get her hands on some armour as soon as possible.

When she returned to her feline savior, their food had arrived. The lumpy cream-coloured soup was delivered steaming in a thick wooden bowl, and although it hardly looked appetizing, Rebecca was hungry enough that she didn't care. She sat down with a smile on her face that quickly vanished at the sight of the table, empty but for their bowls and T'ariq's rounded bottle of wine.

"Oh, I think he forgot the spoons." Rebecca murmured, looking over at Orgnar pointedly and gesturing for him. He looked less than amused at being called from the bar, and stomped his way across the inn while wiping his hands on a dirty linen cloth.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry, but could we have a pair of spoons, please?" she asked, smiling nervously up at the imposing Nordic figure. To her surprise, Orgnar simply chuckled.

"What do you think this is, little girl? The Blue Palace?" he walked away, still laughing to himself. Rebecca felt her frown deepening at the sight of T'ariq smiling at her bemusedly.

"What?" she huffed, staring at her hot soup in dismay.

"This one is a noble's daughter, yes?" he asked. She watched him for any sign of mockery, as the Khajiit raised the bowl to his lips and drank his soup steadily, wiping the excess from his furry chin as he swallowed. But he seemed, once more, curious rather than spiteful in his questioning.

"You don't use spoons here?" Rebecca asked, almost surprised at herself for not guessing as much. She wasn't sure she had even seen one in the game – hell, now that she thought about it, even Ysgramor's Soup Spoon was no more than a fork.

T'ariq shook his head, still watching her with amusement. So, reluctantly, she followed his example, slurping her soup straight from bowl to mouth, and wiping at the leftover potato with the back of her hand. Despite the rather primitive method of consumption, Rebecca had to admit that it was good soup, and more than needed after the day that she'd had. She only wished for something to wash it down with, watching T'ariq downing his bottle of wine with jealousy.

"Can I have a little?" she asked, motioning to his wine. T'ariq looked at the wine and back at her again, his eyes sparkling with humour.

"This one is not certain you are of age." he chuckled. Rebecca rolled her eyes in disbelief.

"I'm twenty-two!" she huffed, reaching her hand across the table for the green glass. T'ariq blinked in surprise, but handed her the wine nonetheless. She took a sip, not certain of the quality of medieval red wine and also not wishing to fall about like a drunkard in the company of a stranger. But to her delight, the wine was smooth and fruity, and warm on the tongue. Rebecca took another swig and handed it back to T'ariq, who was still watching her with his now-familiar expression of amused curiosity.

"What?" she frowned, wondering what she had done wrong this time.

"This one grows more curious about the little kit with each moment," he said quietly. Rebecca grew uncomfortable under his bright gaze, and turned away, fearful that he might somehow gauge the truth just from looking at her. With eyes like that, he certainly seemed capable.

"But this one senses that it is not a tale he will be told. He will ask no more questions." he promised. Rebecca sighed and shot him a grateful look, watching the inhabitants of the bar in silence as she slurped on her potato soup and had a few more sips of the delicious spiced wine. As the light through the windows faded and the flickering of the flames cast shadows across every wall and face, the talk and laughter only grew louder. Rebecca realised that she had been subconsciously watching for Delphine to walk into the inn, in her leather armour and her hair tied back in that tight ponytail. But she did not appear, and Rebecca assumed she was still in Whiterun with Farengar. It was so surreal, to have the opportunity to meet her video game heroes in real life, to walk as they did in the towns they lived in. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected this.

Just as she was drifting off into a daydream about all the possibilities opening up before her, Rebecca was snapped back to virtual reality by the wet thud of fist against face. Pots and plates came crashing to the ground as a man in a green tunic with a full beard was thrown back against one of the tables. The drunk men around him cheered and raised their tankards. Just as he pulled himself to his feet again, a roundhouse kick came flying up towards his chin, knocking him out cold. The man, whom Rebecca recognised as the local drunk, Embry, fell to the ground like a sack of bricks, slumped against a table with blood pouring down from a cut on his cheek.

Rebecca stared on in shock as the Nord men cheered again, and began congratulating Embry's opponent, standing bare chested in the firelight with his fists raised high.

T'ariq scoffed and took another sip from his bottle. "Nords."

Rebecca found herself unable to argue. It was jarring to see the poor man beaten so brutally while the others in the inn looked on with glee. The Nord way of life had certainly seemed a lot less…barbaric from behind the TV screen.

The victor turned towards their end of the room, and Rebecca caught a glimpse of his face for the first time. He looked surprisingly young, likely not much older than herself, although she assumed this largely due to the childish features of his face. He wore a smirk that hadn't left his face since the pair had arrived in the inn, his warm brown eyes dancing in the firelight as laughter played on his lips. Even down to his freckles he looked like a boy. It was quite a contrast to his lean frame, his arms decorated with bronze muscles that tensed as he reached a hand up to ruffle his short cut, blonde curls. On appearance alone, he looked like an all-American angel; however, his fighting style and smug victory lap around the room said otherwise.

As he ran past T'ariq and Rebecca pumping his fists in the air, he slowed a little at their table until coming to a complete stop, and leaning down over Rebecca, who visibly recoiled. The men across the inn catcalled and wolf-whistled to their hearts content as the boy bent down to kiss her hand, a drop of sweat rolling down to his lips.

"Felix," His voice was a little lower than she would've expected, and breathless. "Charmed."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Disgusted." she replied.

The men 'oohed' and jeered at the boy as he hung his head in mock dismay. Yet his smirk remained, and when he stood again, he simply nodded in acceptance, as if to acknowledge her answer as a challenge.

"I'm sure." he chuckled. He flashed her those pearly whites once more before giving her a wink and returning to his band of drunkards, who welcomed him back with open arms and full tankards. As he turned, Rebecca noticed a dark, black tattoo on one shoulder, catching only a glimpse of the Imperial dragon etched into his sun kissed skin. But it was enough to pique her curiosity. And, as stupid as his charade was, Rebecca couldn't help but feel something stir inside of her at that perfect chocolate wink.

She felt T'ariq watching her with that knowing smile in her peripheral vision, and forced herself to shake it off.

"Right," she sighed, getting to her feet and stretching. "I'm going off to bed."

"Ok," T'ariq nodded. "We must be awake by the rising of the sun." he told her.

"Will do," she called over her shoulder as she pushed into their room and collapsed on the nearest bed. Although it wasn't as comfortable as she had been hoping, it was good enough for her aching muscles. The moment her head hit the straw-filled pillow, it began to whirl with new memories, sights and smells that invaded her dreams and stole her away to sleep, and run another day.


	3. Chapter 3

When Rebecca awoke the next morning it was to the sounds of scraping metal, heavy steel boots, and the chink of chainmail. She didn't have to open her eyes to know that she was still in Skyrim.

Breathing in the scent of dried hay and smoke, Rebecca swung her legs over the side of the wooden bed with a groan, not having anticipated the dull ache in her muscles from having run so much the day before. She wiped the sleep from her eyes, tugging down the scratchy tunic that she had slept in and peering around the room. The bed next to her was empty.

 _T'ariq must have got up at the crack of dawn_ , she thought to herself, squinting at the first rays of light with bleary eyes. She pulled on her new dress and got to her feet, inhaling sharply at the clash between the cold stone floor and her warm toes. Her feet were, in fact, hideously dirty, and although she had kindly been lent a pair of oversized leather boots from T'ariq, what Rebecca really wanted was her cozy hoodie and a nice shower.

She opened the creaky wooden door with a yawn and then a startled yelp. Leaning against her doorway was the Imperial boy from the night before, just as smug and just as shirtless.

"Good morning, your highness." he bowed dramatically. Rebecca recovered herself and gave him a suspicious look.

"What?"

"Orgnar told us you asked for a spoon last night," he smirked, throwing a thumb over his shoulder towards the bar. Rebecca rolled her eyes, and stepped around him.

"So, are you royalty?" Felix followed hot on her heels as she headed for the door. "You don't look like it." he added, grabbing a fold in the back of her dress. Rebecca whipped around and yanked the fabric back from him, glaring right at his perfect caramel-coloured eyes.

"Cheers." she sneered. Now it was his turn to look confused. Rebecca felt like slapping herself for the third time in 48 hours. She had realised last night after Spoongate that she would have to dramatically adapt her mannerisms and speech while she was here, but it would take some getting used to.

"Well, you're definitely foreign." he chuckled. Rebecca folded her arms.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she asked, her tone impatient. Felix cocked his head to the side and smiled innocently.

"Sure you do!" He extended his hand. "I'm Felix, we met last night." He blinked at her with those baby browns and she couldn't help it. Rebecca stifled a giggle as she felt the corners of her lips twitch up in a smile. Meanwhile Felix saw his opportunity, and pounced.

"So, where you headed, princess?" he grinned, leaning a muscled arm against the wall. Rebecca recovered herself and focused hard on keeping her facial muscles relaxed.

"Bleak Falls Barrow," she told him, raising an eyebrow. "Fancy coming with?"

She had been hoping to deter him from further pursuit, but at the sparkle that appeared in his eye, Rebecca realised that her plan had totally backfired.

"Absolutely!" he beamed, his face lighting up with glee. Rebecca sighed internally and pushed past him out into the street. T'ariq was sitting on the steps of the inn, sharpening his blade. He turned and smiled in amusement as Rebecca stomped out past him, with Felix in her wake.

"Please? I'm really handy in a pinch." he assured her, skipping in front of her to slow the pair down. Rebecca watched him in disbelief, wondering how a man could be so irritating and so attractive at the same time. Shaking her head, she finally gave in and stopped walking.

"Well we're going to Whiterun first, so-"

"Great." he smiled, that cocky gleam ever present in his eyes. "Then I'll meet you there."

Rebecca had to swallow her retort as Felix leaned towards her. Her breath hitched in her throat as his eyelashes brushed her nose, and he planted a gentle kiss on her reddening cheeks.

"Have fun, kitty cat!" he called, slapping a hand on T'ariq's shoulder pad as he ran off laughing.

The next second, he was gone, with nothing but the ghost of that self-assured smile in his place. Rebecca closed her parted lips and cleared her throat.

"We should get going." She cursed herself as her words came out in a squeak, and heard T'ariq chuckle. He walked on past her and shot her a look of exaggerated disappointment over his shoulder.

"That one? Really?" he rasped.

Rebecca blushed again and shook her head rapidly, skipping to catch up with her feline companion. "No- what? Of course not." she told him.

Luckily, T'ariq didn't bring up the headstrong Imperial again, giving Rebecca a moment to breath and also time to take in the countryside as they ventured out of Riverwood and across the bridge. The town was just stirring as they left, with children and shopkeepers stepping out into the cool summer sun that shone down onto the cobbled road.

Rebecca had been looking forward to the walk from Riverwood to Whiterun. She was eager to see the view from the mountain over the Whiterun valley in real life. As an iconic moment in the game that signaled the real start of the Dovahkiin's adventure, it was one she always took a moment to enjoy when playing.

As they passed the old wooden signpost and turned the corner of the rushing river, Rebecca had a thought that stopped her dead in her tracks. T'ariq took a second before turning around and staring at her quizzically.

"What is wrong?" he asked, his amber eyes gleaming.

"I-I think there are wolves up ahead." she muttered, her eyes filled with fear at the thought. She had never faced wolves in real life, and didn't fancy her chances with her silly steel dagger. In contrast T'ariq seemed completely at ease, and he smiled, putting his arm around her shoulder and walking her forward.

"Little kit, this is likely not the case," he purred. "And if it is so, T'ariq is ready."

But Rebecca's mouth was shut tight with fear, barely able to walk another step before she suddenly had such overwhelming déjà vu that she squirmed out of his grasp, stepping back.

"Here," she whispered, scared of alerting the unseen presence in the bushes. T'ariq spread his arms, looking around. "I see no-"

With a vicious snarl, a black shaggy creature launched out from behind a boulder with claws outstretched towards him. T'ariq was knocked to the ground with a grunt, as Rebecca screamed and drew her dagger, her hands shaking. The Khajiit was faster, however, as before she could even find the courage to step forward, he thrust his golden sword up and through the mangy creature's body. Rebecca flinched as he removed his sword from the wolf as if from a sheath, blood spurting across his cuirass. T'ariq's ear twitched as another mutt raced out from the bushes, cut down in a matter of seconds as he practically sliced him in half with a growl. Rebecca had to cover her eyes as he plunged his sword through the wolf's heart, silencing its pitiful whining and stilling its shaking paws with the sickening crack of bone.

T'ariq wiped the blood from his blade and sheathed it, stepping toward Rebecca and placing his hands on her arms to calm her shaking. She couldn't bear to remove her hands from her face, so instead her took her dagger from her trembling hands and pulled her into his chest.

Rebecca forced herself to choke back the tears, biting down hard on her lip as T'ariq stroked her hair and hushed her whimpering.

"There, there," he murmured. Rebecca finally stopped shaking long enough to put her arms around his furry waist, finding comfort in his embrace. In that moment, she was sure that she had never been so grateful to have someone by her side. "It is over now." he assured her.

Eventually, Rebecca succeeded in blinking away the heat in her eyes. She pulled away from him with a sniff, refusing to meet his gaze. She was angry at herself for reacting so stupidly – even the smallest child in Skyrim must have been comfortable with a dead wolf, but here she was, getting uncharacteristically squeamish and being pathetic in front of a large, and very suspicious cat.

"C'mon, let's get going." she insisted. She took a deep breath as she stepped over the bodies of the wolves, trying not to linger on the scent of their blood, and continued down the path. For a moment, T'ariq did not follow, but after a few seconds he had silently appeared at her side once more.

"T'ariq knows that he promised not to ask," he began quietly. "but surely this one is a very rich noblewoman if she has not the stomach to watch a wolf be killed."

Rebecca was silent for a while, considering her options in her head. Although T'ariq was proving a trustworthy and unfailingly kind ally, she was not certain of how he would react, or if he would even believe the truth. The birds whistled their morning tune in the branches high above them as they walked, the sunlight dappling the forest floor at their feet.

"You _did_ promise not to ask who I was." she reminded him. T'ariq gave a deep, throaty chuckle.

"But T'ariq did not promise not to ask who you were _not_." he pointed out, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. Rebecca smiled weakly.

"I suppose that's true." she admitted. But to her surprise, T'ariq did not persist in his line of inquiry. He was looking at her with that same sort of lazy interest, but this time it was tinged with affection. They were quiet again for a moment, before T'ariq sighed.

"It seems this one should indeed teach you how to cast."

Rebecca frowned, trying to decode his strange form of speech, before gasping suddenly. She grabbed his arm and turned to him with an expression of pure delight.

"You mean you'll teach me magic?" she squealed. He purred in amusement, and nodded. Rebecca found the heart to smile again, even after the previous trauma, at the prospect of learning magic. Her muscles relaxed as she began to babble in anticipation.

"It's odd, because normally I play with a Warhammer and heavy armour - I always thought magic was crap - but now that I'm actually here it seems like the best thing in the world! Oh, I'm so excited!" she squealed. In the pause that followed, she glanced across at T'ariq, to find him staring at her suspiciously again.

"Um…what's wrong?" she asked quietly. T'ariq shook his head.

"Not wrong, it is just…you have played with Warhammers and armour?" he looked her up and down, scrutinizing the severe lack of muscle on her body. Rebecca suddenly realised her mistake, and her face froze.

"Yes…when I was little," she covered, smiling sheepishly. "Little warhammers."

T'ariq nodded slowly, but looked unconvinced. Fortunately, Rebecca was saved from answering any more incriminating questions as they turned the corner and laid eyes on the Whiterun valley. Rebecca breathed out a sigh of relief. The city itself looked beautiful from above, and the plains stretched out into a golden eternity. Once again the tingle of joy overpowered her underlying fear of death and abandonment, and Skyrim was momentarily a dream come true instead of a nightmare.

They took the descent down the mountain a little faster now that they could see the city, spurred on by the wind whistling through the heather around their feet, and the sweet aromas rising from the Honningbrew Meadery. The road also became a little busier, with noblemen on horses with armed escorts clip-clopping up the hill towards them.

"You are not a Nord?" T'ariq said suddenly. Rebecca glanced at him but he gave no further explanation. She smiled.

"No." she answered, watching the farming folk raise their hoes up high and strike the earth, raking the ground into uniform lines for the next harvest season.

"You are not an Imperial?"

"No." she scoffed, her eyes locked onto the first town guard they had seen, his orange cloak wrapped around the chainmail that guarded his body. The iconic helmet twisted to watch her as she stared, half expecting him to come out with some line, like 'Let me guess, someone stole your sweetroll'. But he was silent, and moved on past them without comment.

"I'm also not a Khajiit, Orc, Argonian or Mer, before you ask." she clarified, a wily smile playing on her lips. But T'ariq wasn't listening any longer; his attention had been drawn to the nearest field, where a mighty battle cry had just sounded, and the earth was beginning to shake.

"Shit," Rebecca cursed. "The giant, I forgot."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** Hi guys! I'm playing with different lengths and currently doing a chapter every day but I was wondering - do you prefer the chapters a little longer, like this one, or shorter like the last two? Let me know in PM or reviews...hope you're enjoying the tale so far :)

T'ariq's focus snapped back to the girl beside him in a sudden burst of suspicion. But he had no time to play guessing games as she took off towards the fight.

"Rebecca!" he yowled, tearing after her as she rushed headlong into the fray. Rebecca had totally forgotten that she couldn't fight, and, bolstered by the number of Companions surrounding her, she felt no fear. The giant was significantly stinkier than she had imagined, and had pussing grey warts all along his body, which popped open as he stretched to swing his ginormous club at the agile Nordic warriors. They were no match for him, leaping out of harm's way to fire arrows at his head, and swipe at his limbs. The giant groaned as one warrior slashed open his heel, forcing the giant on one knee. Rebecca was stood right behind the Companion responsible when the Giant turned around to face him, his dull blue eyes alight with fury. He gave a tremendous roar and raised his club high above him. The Companion beside her rolled aside nimbly, but Rebecca stood still. She heard T'ariq yell a warning in the distance, but she remained calm, instinct taking over her as she pulled her arm back, tiny little dagger in hand, and launched it towards the great beast.

It landed right on target, piercing the giant's eye and flying with enough force to slice through to his brain – Rebecca heard it, the crack of bone breaking as the creature's remaining eye rolled back into his head, and he fell, dropping the club on top of him with a thud.

"What were you doing?" hissed T'ariq, practically spitting with fury as he finally caught up to her. But Rebecca couldn't bring herself to apologise. She knew it was rash, she knew it was reckless, but god, did it feel good. For the first time since she was plunged into this world, she had defended herself. She had actually been of value. Although she was panting, she managed a little smile as a glow of pride warmed her chest.

"You handled yourself well,"

Rebecca froze as a familiar female voice behind her announced the appearance of one of the greatest Nordic heroines of all time. She turned white as a sheet, and spun on the spot. Standing before her, was none other than Aela the Huntress, her red hair messy and tangled from the fight, her steel shoulder plates glinting silver in the sun. She smiled down at Rebecca, wiping her sword clean of the giant's blood.

"Someday you could make for a decent shield-sister, little one." she told her, placing a hand on the younger woman's shoulder. Rebecca's face fell at the alteration to her original dialogue. Why did everyone keep thinking she was a kid? Of course, child or otherwise, Aela couldn't extend an invitation to Rebecca like this, wearing nothing but a dress and being scolded like a child by her Khajiit protector. She nodded in reluctant acceptance, her cheeks burning a deep shade of beetroot.

"Th-thank you, Aela," she stammered, hardly able to look the great warrior in the eye. Aela smiled bemusedly at her, sticking her sword in the ground and leaning on it as the other Companions gathered round. Rebecca's wide eyes landed on Farkas, wiping a speck of giant blood from his gauntlets just behind Aela. The dark that warpaint framed those cold grey eyes was mixed with drops of sweat after the fight. It took great effort on Rebecca's part to refrain from calling his name aloud and practically shrieking with excitement.

"You must have heard of the Companions, if you know my name." Aela's deep voice seemed natural in conjunction with her height and gleaming muscles, a contrast to her soft eyes and gentle features. Rebecca realised what she had done a little too late, silently cursing herself for giving away her foresight once again. But this time she was saved from blundering her way through an excuse by T'ariq, who stepped between the two with surprising hostility.

"No, she has not, and we are not interested," he snarled, the tone of his voice making Rebecca blink. T'ariq took her shoulder and turned her away from the warriors, walking back toward the road as a smug smile spread across Aela's face. Rebecca took one last look at the legendary company, returning to her protector with a confused pout.

"What's wrong?" she asked, his face still clouded with distrust. They continued to walk at his brisk pace past the stables, where familiar brown horses whinnied and trotted about the little wooden hut. T'ariq shook his broad muzzle as they passed over the moat surrounding Whiterun city.

"T'ariq does not trust this one," he growled. "She and her friend smells of dog."

Rebecca blinked again for a moment before laughing. She dislodged herself from T'ariq's firm grip as he turned on her with burning eyes.

"What is so funny?" he stopped in front of the gate as the guard stepped forward to approach the pair. Rebecca shook her head.

"Nothing, nothing." she managed in between snorting. The fact that T'ariq could smell the blood in Farkas and Aela, encouraged by their little face off between canine and feline in the field, was nothing short of hilarity to her. _A cat fight_? she wondered _. No, a hissy fit._ she corrected herself. Rebecca was still laughing at the confused expression on T'ariq's face when the guard tapped him on the back and cleared his throat.

"Halt! City's closed with dragons about. Official business only." he announced. Rebecca waved a hand dismissively.

"We have news from Helgen, about the dragon attack." Rebecca told him absentmindedly, still holding back spurts of giggling at T'ariq's face. He was staring at her with a fearful look, as though she had gone absolutely stark raving mad.

"Fine, but we'll be keeping an eye on you." The guard backed away and yelled at his comrade, standing on a sentry post, to open the gates. With a heavy creaking and the turning of gears, the huge wooden doors slowly bowed out to reveal the cobbled streets of Whiterun city. By the time the gates were fully open, Rebecca had got a hold of herself, and was now coughing intermittently to hide her amusement. T'ariq stopped staring and stepped forwards, leading the young girl into the city for the first, and also hundredth time.

Nothing could have prepared Rebecca for the sight of Skyrim's trading hub in person. The yellow-tiled rooves were so much brighter in reality, and the familiar people walking about were so much more animated, and fluid in their movements. Adrianne at the forge was bashing out another steel rod to their right, grunting with the effort. The sizzle of hot metal meeting water was so familiar to Rebecca, the spitting and sparking of the steel almost comforting to her. It was all oddly familiar, yet not quite the same. Like something from a distant dream.

Rebecca kept moving, making her way through the Plains district and the market, hearing the familiar call of Carlotta, selling her fresh fruit and vegetables. The cacophony of voices was so intensely nostalgic for her, she even thought she could pick out Nazim's disdainful drawl from the clamour.

They climbed the steps alongside the streams of rushing water, past the Gildergreen and shrine of Talos. Rebecca's feet faltered at the steps of Jorrvaskr, tempted to rush inside just for a quick peek. But it was the looming shadow of Dragonsreach that kept her feet in motion, beckoning her into its legendary bowels. She even brushed shoulders with Olfrid Battle-Born on her way up, and had to remind herself that she was a stranger to him. Unlike in the game, none of the residents had random snippets of dialogue for her to enjoy, and instead gave her stiff nods or shot uncomfortable looks at T'ariq, who stared solemnly ahead, refusing to rise to their ignorance.

"State your business." The guard attending to Dragonsreach blocked the entrance with a Greatsword, causing Rebecca to jump a little unexpectedly.

"Oh, uh, we're here to inform the Jarl about the dragon attack in Helgen." she told him. The guard nodded, and opened the two oaken doors, inwards, revealing the great dusty hall inside. The sheer size and immensity of the palace was enough to boggle the mind alone, without the knowledge of the space and purpose of the Great Porch behind the palace.

The cleaning women stopped their sweeping as T'ariq and Rebecca walked past, eyeing them up suspiciously. The pair were careful not to make any sudden movements, sensing the palpable tension in the hall upon their arrival. They ascended to the upper level, walking past the familiar faces of the court nobles who watched them with the silent sneering glares of the rich. As they drew closer, they were greeted, as expected, by Irileth, with her sword drawn.

"What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving any visitors." she grumbled, her ruby red eyes shining menacingly in the firelight. Rebecca felt T'ariq place a paw on the hilt of his sword.

"I have news from Helgen." she replied calmly. Irileth was already sheathing her sword again when Balgruuf himself stood, beckoning to the newcomers.

"It's alright Irileth. I want to hear what she has to say." he told his housecarl, his voice just as deep and thunderous as in the game. Rebecca dipped her head in respect, silently freaking out at the presence of the Jarl in person. She approached the throne, pleased to see that the real Balgruuf wasn't slouching as rudely as his virtual counterpart.

"So, you were at Helgen?" he asked, his eyes widening. "You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

Rebecca nodded. "We both did." she gestured to T'ariq, standing quietly behind her. Balgruuf seemed to pause for a moment of reflection before nodding to himself, as if concluding something important. Rebecca was suddenly very uncomfortable, not used to such a standard NPC going off-script.

"Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once," he motioned to the dark elf, who nodded serenely. "Yes, my Jarl." she answered, before rushing toward the nearest guard and muttering hurriedly. _Well that was easy_ , Rebecca thought to herself.

"And you," Balgruuf stood, taking Rebecca by surprise as he turned to the guard on his left, who handed him a hard leather cuirass. "Well done. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. Here, take this as a small token of my esteem," he passed the leather armour on to Rebecca, who thanked him, grunting as she took the cuirass. It was much heavier than she had expected - and this was light armour!

"There is another thing you could do for me," he continued, looking her up and down uncertainly. "Although, I'm not sure if you are quite up to the task." he shook his head.

"No, yes I am!" Rebecca assured him hurriedly. She wasn't sure what was in store for her in this new world, with danger lurking around every corner and nothing set in stone. the only thing that she knew was the game - the main quest. God only knew what would become of her if she couldn't continue. "I know I don't look like much, but T'ariq is a great fighter. And...we have another warrior meeting us at Bleak Falls Barrow, who can help." she promised him. Although she was hoping that this last part was untrue, if it helped them get onto the quest then she would sing it all day long.

The Jarl, however, looked unconvinced. In fact, his face was suddenly overcome by a stormy kind of suspicion that blotted out the noble leader who had sat on his throne moments before. Rebecca took a step back as he moved towards her, suddenly very confused and afraid.

"How did you know about Bleak Falls Barrow?" he asked. "Are you a spy of some kind? For the Thalmor perhaps?" His voice was filled with a quiet rage that seemed to alert the guards. As if in hive mode, the nearest few stepped forwards menacingly, their hands on their swords. For once, Rebecca was lost for words, unsure of how she was going to get out of this one.

To her surprise, it was T'ariq that took action, as she began to bumble a load of unintelligible nonsense. His stepping forwards made the guards draw their swords, but was unaffected by their clear display of threat. He spread his palms out in peace and raised them above his weapon.

"If I may, my Jarl," he bowed his head in respect to the seething Balgruuf, who lifted his chin as if to sneer at the Khajiit. "This one whom I protect has the gift of…visions." he explained. Balgruuf's glare turned from anger to interest, and he slowly sat back down on his throne. Rebecca watched T'ariq with anxious eyes as he kept his head bowed for the guards who were still drawn.

"I have seen them for myself. She is able to predict events of the future, but she is no spy." he elaborated, his voice as smooth as butter. "If I were you, my Jarl, I would take advantage of the gifts that this one has." he finished, bowing even deeper. Balgruuf did not answer at first. He glanced at Rebecca, hiding behind her companion. She cast her gaze down to the floor in fear as their eyes met. The Jarl took a deep breath, looking down at T'ariq as if in disgust.

"It is a strange day in Skyrim when a Jarl takes the word of a cat." he sneered. Rebecca saw the Khajiit's tail twitch, but he made no move, and remained deep in his bow. The Jarl nodded slowly, returning to sit on his throne. The guards put away their weapons, and Rebecca found herself able to breathe again.

"I will trust your judgement, sellsword," Balgruuf concluded. "Go to Bleak Falls Barrow. If your little woman truly does have this…gift, then she will know what she is searching for." He locked eyes with Rebecca, who dipped her head in understanding. Finally, both T'ariq and Rebecca rose and bid the Jarl a farewell, neither of them speaking until they were ushered out onto the front steps of Dragonsreach.

"T'ariq?" Rebecca reached out to touch his shoulder tentatively, but he kept walking. Pursing her lips, she caught up with him again, and tried to pull on his arm to stop him. But T'ariq only shrugged her off, stomping down the stairs and past the Gildergreen. Rebecca frowned, suddenly speeding up until she was by his side again, following his curious path between house and temple, until they were at the city wall, behind the Battle-Born household. Then she almost wished she hadn't begged for his attention, as the rage in T'ariq's eyes was unlike any he had shown before. He whirled on Rebecca as soon as they were alone, those bright amber orbs glaring at her in accusation. She felt a ball of shame burn within her as he began to speak.

"This one has not had to subjugate himself in front of men since he was very little indeed," He paced back and forth in front of her, his eyes fixed on the earth. "To bend to Nords of that kind is not in an honourable Khajiit's nature. It is disgraceful." He spat angrily onto the ground, making Rebecca flinch.

"And yet, it was necessary because of the kit's mistake."

T'ariq slowed to a halt, watching her carefully as she bit down on her lip, a signal he now knew well as the tell-tale sign that she was about to cry. He took a deep breath and sighed it out, blinking slowly. He placed a paw on each hip, posed like a father with a misbehaving child.

"T'ariq knows there is more to these 'visions' than good fortune. First with the wolves, then with the giant and this Barrow," he looked back at her, this time with a softness in his eyes, as his anger ebbed into frustration. "And now you owe this one the truth."

Rebecca breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with air and then trapping it there, tensing her every muscle and organ as her mind raced with possible explanations for her odd behavior and foresight.

"Or, at the least, the girl can keep her mouth shut when she feels a premonition coming on." T'ariq shook his head in exasperation, until Rebecca found herself shaking hers too. The only possible explanation was the truth. She felt that she could trust him, despite the short time they had known each other.

"Listen, T'ariq, you've been very good to me. You've done more than I could've possibly asked," She spoke slowly, so that she could choose her words with care. "And I won't blame you if you don't believe what I'm about to say…or, if you choose to leave me because of it."

She sat down on the hard-packed earth, patting the space in front of her. Reluctantly, T'ariq lowered himself, and crossed his legs underneath him.

And so, she told him. Rebecca recounted every minute of her journey into this alternate universe, from the truth about her knowledge of Skyrim, to falling into her TV, until finally, she explained how she came to meet him, in the woods near Helgen. And all the while, T'ariq sat in stony silence, which only made her speed up, practically tripping over her words by the end of her story. Yet he remained silent.

Rebecca ducked her head to try and catch a glimpse of what was brooding beneath that dark, furry mane.

"You ok, T'ariq?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the rushing of the waterways behind them. Eventually, after what seemed like a millennia, he raised his shaggy muzzle, nodding slowly as he drew shapes in the dusty ground beneath them. She let him sit and absorb for a minute, not wanting to overload the Khajiit after she had just informed him that his entire world was a total lie, a virtual construct designed for entertainment, and one that didn't even feature his supposed homeland.

"T'ariq cannot believe it," he told her, drawing a line through the circle he had been making in the ground. Rebecca felt her heart drop, watching him closely. He examined her with those glowing eyes, just as she had been scrutinising him. "Not this. It is too much for this one." he admitted.

"But," he raised a finger, his wide head swinging back and forth in the breeze. "He does know that you are certainly not from this world. And, he does believe that you have an understanding of Skyrim that runs far deeper than prophecy or scholarship." T'ariq raised his hands in the air as if in defeat. "So, T'ariq is not sure what he can believe," he chuckled, sounding tired. "But he will be with you while he decides. Besides," he added. "If half of what you are saying is true, then this little kit will be in need of a permanent bodyguard." He held his head up and gave her a reassuring smile. Rebecca finally relaxed, immensely relieved at T'ariq's response.

"So, you'll stay with me?" she raised an eyebrow.

T'ariq purred with affection. "Of course, little one. You would not last too long without me."

Rebecca gave him a playful slap on the shoulder, getting to her feet once more as the sun started its sloping descent towards the western horizon.

"Hey, do people do that to you a lot?" Rebecca asked as the pair walked on down towards the Bannered Mare. T'ariq tipped his head to the side.

"I mean," she clarified. "Treat you like a threat. Like an animal."

T'ariq gave a deep chuckle, causing Rebecca to look up at him with a frown, wondering if he had understood her right.

"This other world you speak of, it does not have people who treat others like this?" his warm eyes glimmered with amusement. They passed the vendors in the market packing away their produce. Even as they walked past Fralia, Rebecca picked up on another example, as the old woman shot the Khajiit a suspicious glare and laid a protective hand on her jewellery subconsciously.

"No, it does," she raised an eyebrow, glaring at the elderly Grey-Mane. "But where I come from, that's called racism, and it's illegal."

Now it was T'ariq's turn to frown. "What is this, 'racism'?" he asked, as they stepped inside the Bannered Mare. Rebecca smacked a hand to her forehead, trading her pursuit of social justice for the warm hearth and some lighter conversation.

It was only when she had successfully strapped her new leather cuirass on, and then unbuckled it three times that T'ariq let her put her armour away for the night, satisfied that his teaching had not been in vain. Once again, his kindness took a tangible form as he bought her a sling bag to place her possessions in. Having not dared to retrieve her dagger from the gooey eyeball of the giant that morning, Rebecca was now down to her tunic, dress, cuirass and a few sweetrolls, in dire need of a weapon and not comfortable without a few potions. She made a mental note to start picking up ingredients as she went along, finally feeling glad that her obscenely vast knowledge of Skyrim's alchemical agents was paying off. T'ariq also showed her a few simple destruction spells, as well as the essential restoration ones that afternoon behind Warmaiden's, and although Rebecca wasn't quite a natural, she did manage to spark a flame for a few seconds, which gave her hope for her future.

Considerably less scared than in the previous evening, and feeling positive about her future, Rebecca sat down at the bar beside her Khajiit partner, both with a bottle of mead in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other. And she was just about feeling comfortable in her armour, settling into the hardy Nordic way of life as the inn began to fill up with the rising of the moon, when one particular visitor slammed the door of the Bannered Mare wide open, filling the room with a chilling breeze.

His dark figure was cast in shadow by the fire, moving lithely as the room fell into silence at his appearance. Rebecca almost thought he was made entirely of shadows, until he grew near enough to see the glowing red outline of his horned armour, and realised that this warrior boasted a full set of Daedric plates, with a dragonbone Waraxe slung across his back. He stepped slowly inside as an eerie hush fell over the onlookers. With every movement, his armour clinked and scraped with a high-pitched whine, as though forged with the very souls of the innocent which he had devoured to enchant the divine metal that he wore. But he seemed to be looking for something that could not be found in the inn that evening, and Rebecca was glad when she saw him turn away and make for the door.

"Thank God," she whispered to T'ariq beside her. "That dude looked serious."

T'ariq froze, the hackles on his neck rising as he looked past her towards the Daedric knight. Rebecca gulped, needing no visions to know that the intruder had turned back around. She gripped onto the edge of the bar as tight as she could to steady herself, slowly finding the courage to turn her gaze to this servant of Oblivion.

And, just as she had predicted, the black pits of his helmet seemed trained on her as he turned around and started back into the room. Except this time, he was headed straight for her.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** Updates might be slower the next few days, I'm on holiday x

Rebecca's heart thumped louder with every step he took towards her. The knight did not slow down as he approached the bar, and for a split second, Rebecca was sure that his hands were reaching upward for his Waraxe to slice her in two. She closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer to whoever may be listening.

But, just as he reached the stool next to her, he halted, and his hand moved past the handle of his weapon. His black gauntlets reached instead for the horned helmet on his head, shrouding his face in darkness. Rebecca watched, paralysed with fear as he lifted it to reveal...a smiling man, with scruffy brown hair and bright eyes. She blinked in confusion as he extended a dark gauntlet to Rebecca. She took it hesitantly and gave him a weak handshake.

"Hi there," he grinned, his voice cheerful and light in shocking contrast to the ominous, glowing suit of armour that he bore. "Who're you?"

Rebecca felt her jaw hit the floor as he turned to the barkeep, who was equally disturbed, and ordered a large pint of lager. The Bannered Mare seemed to sense the dissipation of danger, as the murmur of conversation trickled back once more, and Mikael in the corner began to pluck a shakey tune on his lute.

Rebecca turned to T'ariq with a frown, relieved to find that he looked just as lost as she did. As the innkeep handed Tom his tankard, he thanked her heartily and took a great swig. She watched in stunned silence as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and raised his eyebrows in her direction, awaiting her introduction.

"Oh, sorry!" Rebecca was flustered, a heavy blush rising to her cheeks. "I'm Rebecca, and this is T'ariq." she pointed to the dark furred Khajiit behind her, who raised a hand meekly in greeting. The stranger extended his hand once again for T'ariq to shake. But T'ariq simply stared at his hand and recoiled, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.  
"No, I thought so," the armoured stranger pressed his lips together and withdrew his arm, turning back to Rebecca with a smile. "Would you mind if I talked to you alone for a minute?"

Rebecca turned to T'ariq, who shrugged and took his pint across the room. From his accent, she would assume him to be an Imperial by race. But even in the game, Rebecca had never come across an Imperial decked out in full Daedric armour, and certainly not a regular NPC. Perhaps this was a quest she'd never done?

"I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself," he shot her another charming grin.

"I'm Tom, I'm Player One."

Rebecca practically jumped in her seat, staring at him wide-eyed and fearful.

"Good, good," he laughed, watching her closely. "So, you must be Player Two."

Rebecca sat in shock, unable to move for a moment while Tom drank his way to the bottom of his lager. Had he just said… _player one_? Could a simple Imperial possibly know what that meant? She started to rub her temples, feeling a stress-induced migraine coming on. This had been one hell of a day already. She wasn't sure if she could handle any other major revelations today.

"Um," she exhaled deeply before pointing to the door. "Shall we…?"

"Mhm." Tom smiled pleasantly again and pulled his helmet off the bar as they exited the Bannered Mare. The sun was now starting to fall behind the mountains in the West, dashing the wide, clear sky with strokes of beautiful violet, orange and scarlet. A couple of stars had begun to shine above Dragonsreach, as the dying rays of the sun lit up Tom's sleek black armour. The marketplace was now deserted, so they decided to sit on the steps of the Bannered Mare to avoid being overheard.

Tom remained silent for a moment, watching the sunset with a contented smile, as though he didn't have a care in the world.

"Sorry, who are you again?" she asked. Tom put his helmet down beside him and sighed.

"Tom Hanson, from Maryland, USA," he told her. "Total log time of six years, three months and twenty-three days." Rebecca watched the sparkle of humour fade from his eyes as they glazed over. He began to unbuckle his gauntlets, a wistful smile playing on his lips. She examined the man in front of her with rigorous study. He couldn't be older than thirty, had no scars, and better kept hair than most Nords that she had met with so far. But yet, despite his clear youth, his face was cracked with lines of sorrow, turning that bright white smile transparent. Rebecca's face softened and she started helping him remove the straps on his arm.

"I'm Rebecca Lamb, from London. England." she told him. Together they inched off his tight-fitting gauntlets until his arms were free, tanned and freckled like a young boy's. Tom nodded, seeming to recover himself with another cheery grin.

"You're gonna have to come up with a story for that accent." he chuckled. Rebecca hung her head and laughed. She had been getting some odd looks from the locals, and for more than just her voice.

Rebecca turned to face Tom, her green eyes sparking with concern. "You've really been in here for six years?" she asked. Tom didn't respond, staring off as the sun burned a fierce red before finally disappearing altogether behind the mountain range in the distance. The warmth began to fade from the stone steps they were sat on, and was replaced by a cold breeze. She took his silence as affirmative.

After a long pause, he cleared his throat. "I came here as soon as the game reset, hoping to find you in one piece." he explained.

"Reset?" she frowned.

"The folks round here forgot who I was and went back to their default dialogue," he explained, waving a hand as if this were a simple matter. "I knew someone new had fallen in. I wanted to come say hi."

Rebecca's mind reeled with the mechanics of this virtual reality, wondering not for the first time how much of it was a game and how much of it was very much alive.

"See you found yourself some armour," he slapped her back good-naturedly. "And a friend." He must have been referring to T'ariq, Rebecca realised, suddenly very appreciative of her furry companion.

"You travel alone?" she asked, immediately regretting the question. The man wielded a dragonbone weapon and his armour literally glowed. Of course he travelled alone.

"After the first couple of resets I started moving around a lot more, never with company," he sucked in air through his teeth. "Not worth the pain, really."

Rebecca's heart sank with pity. She couldn't possibly imagine living alone for six whole years in this lethal landscape. She had barely been a day with T'ariq but she already knew that she would never survive if he decided to go his own way. But if, after all that time with a companion, they suddenly forgot who you were…in her own way, Rebecca understood. She recognised that glimmer of pain behind his eyes.

"So, I'm not the first?" she asked. Tom finally broke into a grin.

"Oh, no, not by a long shot," His brown eyes sparkled with humour. "You're number six, in fact."

"Six?" Rebecca's mind was reeling.

"Yeah. But don't worry, the others are dead now." he shook his head, the laughter fading from his eyes. Rebecca nearly choked. She slapped a hand down onto his and gripped him tightly. "I'm sorry, what?" she gasped. Tom stifled a giggle, placing his other hand on top of hers and patting her in what he believed to be a reassuring manner.

"No, I shouldn't laugh," he paused for a moment to collect himself before continuing. "Yes, numbers two through five are dead. Actually, number four might still be out there. He ran off to live with the Greybeards, but I don't imagine he stayed with them for very long. I guess he might still be clinging on somewhere." he shrugged.

"Why wouldn't he have stayed with the Greybeards?" Rebecca looked lost. "That seems like the safest place to be."

Tom waggled a finger at her, shifting to face her on the stone steps. "Safest, yes, but not the wisest. The Greybeards would likely have shouted him out after the next reset. And lemme tell you, this guy wasn't the bravest of fellas."

Rebecca stared at him, now completely confused and long overdue a real explanation. Tom, saw her expression and sighed, looking reluctant to divulge the truth.

"Ever since I fell in I've been very careful with assuming things to be just like the game. For the most part, they are, but the few differences are pretty key," his voice took on an uncharacteristic severity. As he talked, Rebecca couldn't shake the feeling that he had suddenly aged five years. "So, if you wanna stay alive, you'd better listen up."

"Number One," he raised a finger and fixed her with an intensely grave stare. "Tell absolutely no one who you really are."

Rebecca swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, trying to banish the guilty blush rising up to her cheeks. It was a little late for that...but she felt she could trust T'ariq. As long as her instinct prevailed, this probably wasn't all that bad.

"Number Two, it goes without saying that there are no respawns here, so...try not to die," he explained. "Number Three, you are the Dragonborn. For real. You can't run away from that and these people who die by dragonfire are no longer NPCs, so please don't copy Resets 3 & 4 and ignore your duty to the world."

Rebecca's head was spinning. She felt like she was about to throw up. The Dragonborn? _Oh, good_ , she thought. _Because the only thing that could possibly make my chances of survival totally obsolete, is a destiny that requires me to fight dragons_. She gave an involuntary shiver as the image of Alduin's black wings blocking out the sun above her popped back into her mind. Tom clearly noticed her discomfort and began to stroke his thumb across her hand.

"It's ok. I'll be here to help, but I can only do so much, since can't absorb dragon souls." his voice had dropped an octave and taken on a soothing tone. Rebecca felt the nausea pass her by, but a heavy, sinking confusion took its place. She frowned, watching Carlotta walk past them on her way back to her house, casting a suspicious eye over at the two of them talking with bent heads.

"But aren't you a dragonborn too?" she whispered, careful not to draw Carlotta's attention.

Tom opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted as the door to the Bannered Mare swung open behind them, and a very drunk Mikael stumbled out. Rebecca shifted to the side of the steps to let him pass as he called out to Carlotta, who gave one look at the man and started running. Once he was sufficiently far away, tripping over himself and yelling unintelligibly, Tom took a deep breath, and began again.

"No. The dragonborn resets just like everything else. I lost the ability to shout after I was succeeded, and that's why I doubt number four is still living with the Greybeards. If he's still alive, that is." he told her.

Rebecca paused for a moment before asking the one question that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for the entirety of their conversation.

"So, death is really…the end?" she asked, unable to keep the fear out of her voice. Tom did not answer, he only nodded. Refusing to look at her, he turned to the grass by the side of the stairs and began to pick at it absentmindedly, watching as stars began to appear in the velvety sky. Their cold light shone weakly down on the pair of lost souls, giving their hair a silvery tint and adding a sorrowful gleam to their eyes.

The truth finally sank in. She was not going to wake up in her own bed tomorrow morning, with all of this as just a whacky dream. She was stuck here. The only way out was death. Rebecca's stomach gave a violent lurch and she placed a hand on Tom's shoulder to steady herself. She breathed in deeply, trying desperately not to collapse into a sobbing wreck as her emotions swam up and threatened to engulf her.

"Hey, hey, it's alright!" he cooed, gathering her into a hug and running a hand through her hair as she sniffed. Rebecca shook her head violently as he drew away, clinging on to him.

"No, please, just a second." Her voice was thick with emotion. She felt her cheeks burn with shame at her own fear, and yet she knew that she could not overcome it. A chubby little girl from London, with no survival experience, no weapon and serious emotional dependence issues could never live the way that Tom did, in the wild west of the video game world. She was awash with fear, shaking as if her inevitable death was staring her in the face right this second. She heard Tom sigh by her ear and forced herself to pull away, picking under her fingernails and refusing to look up at him.

"I'm sorry, that was really embarrassing." she murmured. But to her surprise, Tom laughed again. She glanced up at him to make sure he had heard right. But her ears did not lie – Tom was chuckling and watching her with an expression of affectionate concern. It was a look that Rebecca was getting used to very quickly, the look that a person gave to a wounded puppy. She turned away. She was sick of being the puppy.

"No, Rebecca, don't be sorry," he covered his mouth in an attempt to smother his laughter. Rebecca stared at him, a little disgruntled, and wondering if he ever stopped laughing. "You'll be fine, alright? Besides," he added, beaming at her. "There might be a way out."

Rebecca's head snapped up and her eyes were set alight. Tom gave her a toothy grin, glad to see her perking up a little. "Yeah, I've had this theory for a while that if you finish the main quest, defeat Alduin, then your purpose would be fulfilled here, and the game would reset. But this time, you might just get spat back out." he told her, his voice rising hopefully. But Rebecca was not at all reassured by this news, and leaned back against the steps with a sigh.

"Right," she laughed mirthlessly. "Defeat Alduin. No biggie."

Tom gave her a pat on the back and got to his feet, gathering his helmet and bracers into his arms. He shot her a sympathetic look.

"I know it's hard, but you'll get better," he promised. "I'll come and check up on you every now and again. As long as you follow the main quest, I'll know where to find you. But, if you need me before then, I'll be in Markarth." A fleeting shadow of sorrow flashed across his laughter lined face. "Trying to win my wife again."

And with that, he took off, placing his helmet back on his head, strapping up his gauntlets and striding down the street, his armour clinking against the stone with every step.

A sudden gust of warmth and the sound of raucous laughter spilled out into the darkness, warning Rebecca that someone had opened the door to the Bannered Mare. She couldn't find it in herself to look up, or even move in case the stranger wanted to pass through. Nothing seemed to matter at this point. She would be dead in a day anyway.

The stranger sighed behind her. "Come on little one," a familiar voice rasped. Rebecca did not acknowledge T'ariq until he was pulling her to her feet with an arm under each shoulder. He nudged her gently inside and then towards their room, her feet shuffling across the floor as if on autopilot. Once inside, T'ariq shut the door as Rebecca sank down onto the closest bed, undoing the straps on her new leather armour. She could feel the Khajiit watching her as she removed the cuirass, the tunic underneath leaving her skin raw and red as it chafed at her sides. Her eyes were glazed over with a numb kind of look. Slowly, and almost as if she were unconscious of what she was doing, Rebecca lay down on the hay and pulled the bearskin over her body, turning to face the wall.

"That man," he T'ariq ventured, his voice barely audible over the muffled sounds of the drunken townsfolk in the room next door. "He was from your home?"

Rebecca blinked in the darkness.

"Yes." she answered quietly. T'ariq himself climbed into bed, his gaze lowering as he put two and two together.

"You cannot go back?" he asked, his voice softening. There was a moment of silence before Rebecca shook her head. It made T'ariq's heart ache to see her so sombre, but he knew better than to press, and instead bid her goodnight before falling asleep.

In the bed next to him, his companion squeezed her eyes tight shut as a tear rolled down her face, praying that when she opened them again, she would be home and in front of her Xbox, away from the dragons and monsters and violent men. But this time, despite her wildest dreams, she had no faith that it would come true. Tom's words bounced inside her skull, as she tried to still her beating heart. Aside from his warning about how fatal Skyrim was, and the likelihood of her coming home again, one line in particular stuck with her as she fell asleep.

 _You are the Dragonborn_ , he had said. _For real_. _You can't run away from that_.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning Rebecca found her mood improved quickly upon stepping out of her room to find the innkeeper presenting her with a steel sword.

"The man last night left it for you." she explained, holding it out in its sheath for Rebecca to take. Her eyes brightened in amazement as she strapped it around her waist, and practiced walking up and down the room with it nudging against her leg.

"How do I look?" she asked T'ariq, twirling in a circle. The Khajiit laughed.

"Like a little girl with a sword."

Rebecca dropped her arms to her sides and shot him a dry look.

Before getting back on the road, they bought some potions from Arcadia's Cauldron, mainly for health but also a couple for magicka. T'ariq even snagged a potion of invisibilty that he claimed would come in handy whenever he needed to stash her behind a tree while he fought. Rebecca found this especially unamusing.

They had just left Whiterun when Rebecca reminded her furry friend of his promise to teach her magic, unsatisfied with the feeble flame that she had briefly conjured the day before. They decided to stop just by the Battle-Born farm to practice.

"Ok little kit," T'ariq took up a position opposite her, about a metre away, and placed his feet apart. "Take your sword out."

Rebecca frowned, but did as he asked, holding onto her new blade with both hands to steady her grip. "I thought we were practicing magic?"

"We are. This one needs to learn to hold a weapon in one hand, and a spell in the other. Take your hand away from the sword." he instructed her. Rebecca gritted her teeth as she tightened her right hand around the sword. Even though it was a one-handed weapon, it was still much heavier than what she was used to lifting, and took some effort to keep up.

"Good. Now do as we did yesterday," T'ariq told her, pointing to her empty hand. "Remember that this magic is simply energy. This one has to focus that energy and mould it into what she wants. For example, make fire."

Rebecca closed her eyes tight shut, pooling that mysterious warmth into the palm of her hand. She tried to visualise it becoming heat, and heard T'ariq purr in satisfaction. She opened her eyes and saw a ball of flames dancing about in her hand. She barely felt a thing, but for a slight tickling sensation across her palm, and was pleased to find that she did not have to concentrate too hard to maintain it.

"Now, direct it at me." he told her, putting out his palms in front of him.

"Are you sure?" Rebecca sounded worried.

T'ariq nodded, smiling. "Yes, little kit."

Closing her eyes and hoping to high hell that T'ariq knew what he was doing, Rebecca turned her palm outwards, and breathed out in a huff, trying to expel the energy building in her hand. But she heard nothing, no whoosh of flames or smell of singed cat hair. Opening one eye nervously, she saw T'ariq standing stock still, his hands on his hips.

"Did I do anything?" she asked hopefully.

"No." he told her. Rebecca groaned in frustration. She finally let her arms drop, the muscles in her wrist aching from holding up her sword for so long. "Perhaps it would help if the eyes were not closed?" he suggested, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Rebecca shot him a wry smile and held up her sword and left hand to try again. T'ariq cast a simple ward spell, conjuring a shimmering white barrier in front of him that warped his image like bent glass. She tried again, reviving the flames in an instant and forcing herself to watch as she cast. This time, to her surprise, a blast of fire shot out from her hand and splashed harmlessly against T'ariq's ward. But she quickly ran out of breath, and when her lungs ran empty, so too did her palm. The flames vanished as quickly as they had appeared, leaving Rebecca unexpectedly tired, and panting heavily. T'ariq returned to her side, taking the sword from her and offering her his shoulder to lean on.

"This was good." he purred.

"If it was that good, then why am I so exhausted?" she gasped. T'ariq's eyes twinkled with amusement in the morning sunlight.

"Because you have little magicka. You must practice lots to expand it." he explained. Rebecca nodded, leaning forward with her hands on her hips while she caught her breath again. Once she had recovered, they set out onto the road again, heading back up the path for Riverwood, but this time veering right towards Bleak Falls Barrow at the fork in the road. As they walked, T'ariq insisted that she carry her sword, swapping it from both arms and lifting it like a dumbbell to exercise the muscles in her arm. Although this practice was exhausting, especially whilst climbing a mountain in her tight leather cuirass, she was helpful for the tips he gave, demonstrating different attacks most gracefully with his own golden blade. Rebecca noticed that he fought very nimbly - he always kept his weight on the balls of his feet, stepping lightly on his toes as he lunged, and dodging swiftly as his imaginary opponents fought back.

The wind howled ever louder, biting at their noses and fingers as they climbed higher up the mountain. But T'ariq wasn't didn't appear bothered. Just as Rebecca opened her mouth to ask him why he was so comfortable in the freezing cold, she felt his strong arms push her down into a crouch.

"What are you-?" she was cut off as he hurried her behind a thicket, silencing her with a single glare. Before Rebecca could spit back a retort, she became glued to the ground as the wind carried to her ears what T'ariq's had picked up moments before. Just ahead of them, barely visible through the branches, was a small, grey tower, from which the sounds of grunting and the clashing of swords were echoing around the mountainside. Finally, there sounded a final yell, cut short by the sickening slice of a blade, before the area was once again silent, but for the whistling of the wind.

T'ariq placed a furry hand across her chest, his long, dark claws unsheathed, and gestured for her to stay hidden whilst he crept out. Rebecca peered through the pines, hearing her heartbeat in her ears as she watched T'ariq, his dark fur distinct in the snow, creeping towards the outpost. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw a lone figure step out into the wind from the tower, wiping a pair of blades against his bare arm. In fact, most strikingly, this man appeared to be wearing nothing but a pair of trousers, and two leather straps across his chest that held up his sword sheaths on his back.

"Unbelievable." she muttered in disbelief as recognition dawned upon her. She stood up and walked out into the snow, arms crossed and teeth chattering. T'ariq had clearly recognised the man as well and was walking slowly towards him. Although the Khajiit moved with a steady step, Rebecca could tell even behind him from his rigid posture that he was equally unhappy to see the Imperial once again.

"Hey, kitty cat!" he called, standing on his tip-toes and waving eagerly as T'ariq approached. The snow around him had turned red with the blood of a Redguard bandit, her neck sliced wide open where her body had slumped on the ground next to her assailant. Rebecca held her breath as she drew nearer. She had a hard enough time with the wolves, but this? Human bodies were a little outside her comfort zone. She kept her eyes on Felix and ignored the growing smell of blood as she ground to a halt by T'ariq's side.

Felix spread his arms out either side of him, that stupid grin plastered across his freckled face.

"Princess." he greeted her, his voice sickeningly smug. Rebecca rolled her eyes, fighting off a smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her tone colder than she meant it.

He raised a sword in the direction of the barrow. "Isn't that what we're here for?" he asked innocently. Rebecca gave a dry laugh.

"You're not coming in with us." she told him. Felix smirked and stepped down towards her.

"Oh, but I am," he made a sudden move towards her face that Rebecca instinctively slapped away. She heard T'ariq cackle with laughter as Felix held a hand up to his cheek. "Oh, come on!" he cried, those warm brown eyes darkening in mock betrayal. "Please, let me go in with you? I told you, I'm lucky!"

Rebecca laughed again and trudged away from him, heading up towards the Barrow. "There's no such thing as luck." she chided.

Felix stared at her in genuine shock. "Yes there is!" he protested, his pitch rising like a child's. "Only the other day I escaped Helgen from the claws of a dragon." he grinned, looking proud at the stunned expression he had drawn from Rebecca.

"No you didn't!" she gasped.

"Yes I did! How would you know?" Felix frowned, an expression of outrage clouding his eyes.

"I was there!" she cried. Felix looked taken aback, and took another hard look at her face, as though trying to place her.

Rebecca's mind went into malfunction. He couldn't possibly have been at Helgen and survived – she had played the opening scene a thousand times! No one survived but the Dragonborn and Ralof or Hadvar!

"Well, what were you doing there?" she challenged him, leaning up to his face aggressively.

"None of your business." Felix suddenly calmed himself and leaned back, raising an eyebrow and recovering that coy little smirk of his. This was even more effective in infuriating Rebecca, who jabbed a finger at his pecks in her rage.

"I bet you're a thief, and they were just about to chop your head off when the dragon landed!" she sneered, her eyes narrow and hostile despite the brief distraction posed by his surprisingly solid muscles. She snatched her hand back from his bare chest, but it was too late. He seemed to have registered her reaction and was raising his chin as if in victory, coaxing another outburst from Rebecca.

"You evil little-!"

"Little kit, if I may?"

Rebecca blinked as T'ariq stepped between the two of them and placed his hands on her shoulders. She stood straight and took a deep breath as he spoke.

"I think this boy may be of help." he told her.

Rebecca's eyes flew open and she gasped.

"Listen to this one, just for a moment!" he cautioned her. Rebecca closed her mouth and tapped her foot impatiently. "We could use an extra weapon in a crypt such as this. And, the boy has proven that he is a worthy ally." His eyes flitted over to the tower where the three dead bandits lay. Felix leaned over T'ariq's shoulder to shoot her another sly smile, nodding in agreement. Rebecca sent him daggers back, but gave in.

"Alright, fine," she raised her palms in defeat. "He can come."

"Cheers." Felix chuckled. Rebecca's head snapped back to him, her mouth open in stunned silence. Felix shrugged as the group finally headed off to the giant arches of the Barrow to their right. "I picked it up from you," he explained. The corner of his full pink lips twitched into a smile. "Did I use it right?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave to the sultry tone that he had used when they first met. Rebecca looked away, keeping her head firmly down as her face began to redden.

"Keep quiet!" T'ariq hissed. The trio stopped dead in their tracks, peering around the corner that T'ariq had paused at. "There are bandits ahead."

"You stay here." Felix commanded without looking at her. Rebecca gasped in outrage, but had no time to protest, as the Khajiit and Imperial launched into battle with a furious cry. In a matter of minutes, the three bandits were dead, their blood pouring down the steps of the Barrow and into the snow. Rebecca walked up to meet the pair just as Felix was pulling a throwing knife out of one of the bandit's necks.

"A dagger?" she raised an eyebrow as he wiped it clean on his trousers. "I was right. You are a thief."

Felix shrugged nonchalantly and flashed her a charming smile. "Whatever you want me to be, princess."

Rebecca said nothing and hurried past him to the door, her scarlet blush deepening into a dark rhubarb as she heard his laugh tinkling like wind chimes behind her.

They crept inside, each of them moving forward behind the great central pillar in a squat. Her heart pounded for fear of being seen, but the anxiety pumping around Rebecca was being converted into adrenaline as they made it further inside without being noticed. The bandits continued bickering about the division of gold in their company, until a horrible gurgling sound erupted the throat of the nearest. Rebecca peered around the pillar to see a little silver knife sticking out of her throat. The other bandit looked on in shock.

"What the-?"

He had hardly started speaking by the time T'ariq had marched up to him and plunged his sword into the great oaf's chest. He sank to the ground with a moan as the Khajiit pulled out his blade and made for the door. Rebecca moved to follow him, refusing to look down at the bodies, until a call from Felix held her back. She looked over her shoulder to see him picking the lock to a heavy wooden chest.

" _Definitely_ a thief!" she shouted, casting him a disapproving glare. Felix shot her a wink as the lock sprung open, revealing the contents of the chest. Rebecca glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder as the glimmer of gold hit the corner of her eye.

"Hey, we brought you along," she reminded him as he pocketed the gold and some jewels, shining like vibrant stars in the firelight. "We're going thirds on everything we find here."

"Sure, princess. Whatever you say." Felix rolled his eyes.

When she finally caught up with T'ariq, he was crouched in the shadows with fire dancing at his fingertips. Rebecca followed his line of sight to a bandit in the centre of a lit room up ahead. An intense flashback to the game made her throw out her arm to stop him from stepping forward. T'ariq recognised the look in her eye and instead of attacking, sat back to watch, extinguishing the fireball with a snap of his fingers. The trio breathed quietly in the dark tunnel as the bandit pulled a lever in front of him, clearly hoping that it would open the barred door opposite. Sadly, it was instead his doom. Rebecca flinched and had to look away as a moment later he was shot full with poisoned arrows, until his body went rigid and collapsed on the ground.

"It looks as though we must shift the pillars in the correct order to open the gate." T'ariq concluded, stroking his chin asnd peering up at the stone symbols on the walls in front of them.  
"Yup." Rebecca grunted as she hauled the first pillar into place, barely glancing up at the depictions as she moved on to the second, and then the third – snake, snake, whale. This mission in particular was essential to every playthrough she had ever completed, and to the game of Skyrim itself. As such, Rebecca knew the ins and outs of this barrow like the back of her hand. And, although the real life rendition was a little more exciting, for the most part she just wanted to get it over with.

Walking confidently over to the lever, she heard T'ariq draw a sharp breath as she threw it backwards, no doubt in her mind that the gate would clunk open before them. She felt bolder going ahead, knowing that the rest of the enemies in this crypt were all dead. Killing people was something she couldn't quite bring herself to do, but cutting down draugr? Rebecca was quite sure that she could chop and roast all day when it came to the undead.

But as they rounded the corner of the next corridor, bagging extra gold coins from burial inns and potions from shelves as they went, a chilling draught came creeping through their bones from up ahead, until the three were shivering quite violently. Eventually they found themselves face to face with a doorway covered completely by webs, from which the cold seemed to be emanating.

"Oh no," Rebecca whispered. T'ariq looked at her with concern.

"What is it?" he asked urgently. Rebecca shook her head, squeezing her eyes tight shut as the memory drifted to the surface of her mind.

"I just remembered…" she murmured, trailing off as the sounds of pincers clicking and the squirming of long, slimy legs wrapped in swathes of webbing travelled to their ears from behind the webbed door. Rebecca slid to the back of the group as subtly as she could manage, making sure at least ninety percent of Felix's body mass was directly in front of her before instructing T'ariq on how to proceed.

"Cut down the webs," she told him. "And get ready for a fight." He nodded and stepped forward to blast flames at the tangle of sticky webbing while chopping intermittently, until there was a sizeable hole big enough for the three of them to step through. Rebecca felt her heart stop as she caught a glimpse of the giant, furry black body with its long, creepy legs in the next room.

Felix, never missing an opportunity, turned his head a little so that they were inches apart in the doorway.

"Don't worry princess," he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers through her spine. "I'll protect you."

T'ariq and Felix went running off into battle, leaving her behind to shudder at the sudden absence of the Imperial's bare torso against her chest.

"Bloody hell," she cursed, frowning as she tiptoed towards the sounds of battle. "He gets me every time!"


	7. Chapter 7

Rebecca stepped into the icy chamber, the wind blowing her hair up all of a sudden as T'ariq jumped forward to take a mighty swing at the spider. It screeched in agony as he slashed one of its legs clean off, a thick, disgusting green liquid spewing from the hole where it had been. But the spider seemed only more enraged by this, and sent another leg crashing down on top of T'ariq, who went skidding across the floor with the force of the blow. Rebecca caught him as he slid towards her, taking his place while he recovered from the stun. She stepped forward cautiously, sword drawn and one hand out, fortunate that the spider was more than preoccupied with Felix. Remembering what T'ariq taught her, Rebecca closed her eyes for a split second to conjure up that fiery energy that had been waiting inside of her. She opened up her eyes at the last minute, glinting green with determination. And, to her relief, that tickling sensation returned, blasting out from her hand to burn the spider's flank before she cut it off, feeling the recoil setting in.

Rebecca stepped back to perch on a piece of rubble until her head stopped tipping from side to side. But to her horror, just as that moment, Felix had decided to turn towards her, concern in his eyes as she wobbled in her seat, and the spider rose up, pincers bared and legs raised. It gave a ferocious scream just as Rebecca shouted a warning, and lunged down towards the boy. He turned just quickly enough to watch as the spider slipped on a piece of stone, and fell with a rumble onto the ground beside him, missing his swing by inches. Taking the shot that had been handed to him on a silver platter, Felix plunged both swords into the spider's ugly head. It gave one last squeal before laying motionless before him, a picturesque finish as he leant on one blade and turned back to the other two.

With that same cheeky glint in his eye, Rebecca saw his gloat coming before he even opened his mouth. "What can I say?" he shrugged, laughing as he yanked his swords up and out of the spider, now covered with its icky, pungent blood. "I'm lucky."

Rebecca helped T'ariq to his feet and raised an eyebrow as she passed him grimacing at the green slime coating his weapons.

"Doesn't look so lucky to me." she shrugged. He shot her an unamused glare as he wiped them on a nearby thicket of cobwebs.

Rebecca started as a familiar voice sounded from the doorway in front of them, wrapped in amongst the webs – Arvel the Swift. Rebecca gave a heavy sigh as she approached him, wishing she didn't know this game so well.

"You, over there! You did it. You killed it!" he gasped. "Now cut me down before anything else shows up." he demanded, struggling against the webs. T'ariq glanced at Rebecca for confirmation.

"The claw first, Arvel." Rebecca held a hand out expectantly. The man blinked, stunned into silence as he momentarily paused his wriggling.

"Well I can't give you anything like this, can I?" he yelled, appearing to descend into panic as he began frantically attempting to wiggle himself free again.

"Alright, alright." Rebecca stepped forward to cut him out of the webs, T'ariq following her lead. Her mind whirred to life with different strategies, unsure of how to proceed. Could she justify killing him to the others as soon as they got him down? _Hell, forget the others,_ she thought. _Can I justify it to myself_? Killing a spider here and there was not the same as killing a real person. She wasn't sure that she could do it.

Rebecca held her hand out for the claw, and felt her heart soar in relief as she saw him reaching for his pocket. He placed something in her hand, but what, she couldn't tell – it certainly wasn't big enough to be the claw.

In the space of a second, Arvel had yanked on her hand and twisted her around to face T'ariq and Felix, now both drawn and watching the two with concern, their eyes flitting back and forth. Rebecca felt her breath stop altogether as the familiar cold edge of a knife was pressed against her neck, Arvel the Swift chuckling darkly in her ear. The knife glinted in the cold light of the Barrow, the hand that held it shaking and pale. Rebecca felt the blade draw blood, pricking at her skin with every shudder, until a single, thick drop of crimson rolled down her neck. She cursed herself for having the humanity to leave Arvel alive, even for a moment.

"Now put the weapons down, fellas, and we won't have any trouble." Arvel demanded, his voice as weak as his grip. He seemed panicky, or even mad, his breathing heavy and erratic on her ear. T'ariq and Felix reluctantly did as he told them, placing their blades on the ground in front of them. Rebecca racked her brains for a tactic, anything that would distract him or enable her to bargain her way out.

"We'll leave Arvel, we'll walk right out. Just let me go." she promised. But Arvel just laughed, giving a high-pitched cackle that echoed around the stone walls.

"You think I believe that?" Rebecca flinched as he pressed the knife harder on her throat. _This is becoming a recurring theme_ , she thought to herself.

An idea suddenly flashed into Rebecca's head. She shot T'ariq a warning glance, and saw him nod ever-so-slightly in response.

"Now I'm gonna count to three, and you two will be down the hall, you hear me?" Arvel yelled, the fear in his voice still very much palpable. Felix and T'ariq watched him closely with steady gazes, and began to turn away. Rebecca readied herself, closing her eyes and balling up her energy at her finger tips.

"One-"

Before he could count again Rebecca turned her palms inward and pressed them hard into his hip bones. The smell of burning flesh filled the chamber as he let out a bloodcurdling scream and pulled his hands away from her neck, giving her room to duck and roll out of his way. The next second, his wail was cut short by the spike of an ice shard piercing his heart. Arvel fell to his knees, his eyes still wide open and frozen in terror. He let out one final gasp, his breath white as the magic spread across his chest.

Rebecca stood to her feet, her eyes moving down to the two blackened patches of skin at his hips where her hands had burnt past his clothing. She had to swallow an urge to vomit as she noticed the white of bone poking through the seared flesh.

T'ariq shook off the ice magic that still crackled between his claws. Rebecca nodded to him. "Thank you."

T'ariq pointed to her own hands, which were still smoking. "Well done," he smiled at her. "This was very quick thinking."

Rebecca shook her head, not wishing to be commended for anyone's death, innocent or otherwise. She moved over to Arvel's body, where Felix was rummaging through the dead man's pockets. He pulled a large golden claw out from a satchel, holding it up so that it sparkled in the light.

"What in the Nine is this?" he whispered, in awe of the contraption. Rebecca chuckled and took it from him, surprised at the weight of it in her grasp.

"This," she held it out for T'ariq to look at. His eyes lit up in understanding. "Is the Golden Claw. And we're _not_ keeping it." she added, snatching it back as Felix reached out with eager hands towards it. "It belongs to Lucan & Camilla Valerius."

They finally entered the real start of the Barrow, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stone walls. The air felt mustier, and thicker the further down they ventured, dust swirling in the torchlight around them. Felix didn't miss a beat, checking every urn they passed for gems or septims and grinning at his finds. But Rebecca's own mindset was less than optimistic as they proceeded through the crypt. Arvel's death had shaken her a little, and the prospect of draugr up ahead was no less comforting.

She let T'ariq take the lead as they wandered into their first burial chamber, keeping an eager eye out for any movement among the dead lining the walls.

"The ones with armour will attack," she told him, pointing at one sleeping Nord to their right. "And look out for pressure plates on the floor." she added, eyeing the swinging wall trap lying in wait ahead of them.

To her relief, however, the draugr posed little threat to the three of them. They cut them down before they had ever had time to rise, leaving their wrinkled bodies slumped against the alters. Rebecca even managed to take a few down herself, launching balls of fire at those closest and watching their icey blue eyes fade to black as they fell.

"Not bad, princess," Felix puffed, sheathing his swords as the last of them crumpled with a stab to the knee. Rebecca managed a weak smile, the spinning in her head subsiding as her magicka began to replenish itself.

The next room they encountered had a tunnel of swinging blades, providing a pause of barely half a second for a brave soul to sprint through.

"There's a chain on the other side that will stop them." she told T'ariq, looking up at him with pleading eyes. He nodded in understanding, stepping up towards the entrance and watching for a break in their swings.

"I've got this!"

Felix came hurtling out from behind him, ducking and rolling through in one swift motion. The scream died in Rebecca's throat, her eyes widening in shock as Felix stood, unharmed on the other side, and pulled the heavy metal chain down. The axes froze at the sides, allowing them clear access. T'ariq hissed in disdain as Rebecca stormed through the tunnel to give Felix a mighty whack on the shoulder.

"Ow!" he winced. "What was that for?"

"You bloody idiot!" she screeched. "You could've got yourself killed!"

Felix ducked as a flurry of blows came flying at his head. But to Rebecca's fury, that familiar smirk spread across his face and he tipped back his head to laugh aloud. She hit him harder.

"OK, OK!" he put his hands up in submission. Rebecca refrained from throwing any more punches, glaring at him with eyes that burned like emerald fire. Felix leaned down towards her and winked. "Just because you fancy me."

Rebecca gave a roar and raised her hand again. But this time, it was caught in midair by a furry set of claws, gripping her wrist tightly. She turned to see T'ariq behind her, his right ear twitching in irritation.

"If these two could stop bickering like children, we might actually see the end of this filthy dungeon!" he snapped. Felix and Rebecca stood rooted to the spot, taken aback by the hostility in his voice. He shot daggers at the two of them before moving ahead, his tail lashing from side to side in fury. Felix gave a quiet snort before Rebecca sent one last smack flying to the back of his head for good measure.

They trudged through the next few rooms, slaughtering draugr left and right. The tunnels and halls sloped further and further downwards, until finally, deep underground, they emerged in a chamber with carvings all along the walls. They depicted dragon priests and Nordic warriors of old, their ancient scenes leading along the hall to one huge, carved door, with three paler rings around a scratched keyhole.

Rebecca took the lead as she walked up to the door, claw in hand."We're done after this last room." she told the other two.

The code was the same as ever, bear on top, moth in the middle and owl on the bottom. Rebecca lined the carvings on the door up perfectly, and inserted the claw into the indents in front of her, twisting it to the left ever so slightly until the grinding of stone from deep within her announced her success. Slowly, and deafeningly, the stone slab in front of them sunk down into the ground, screeching against the walls and bringing dust and dirt showering down atop them from the ceiling.

"Well, that was easy!" Felix remarked, taking the first step into the huge chamber that awaited them beyond. But Rebecca was more hesitant. Despite the stoic beauty of the spacious cavern, its every wall lined with moss and blankets of ivy, she knew what lay ahead. Lying in wait at the other end of the cavern, was not only a deadly Draugr Overlord, but also, in a sense, her destiny. Rebecca could hear the chanting already, barely a whisper from where she stood, calling her from Sovngarde and pulling her toward her fate. She squeezed her eyes tight shut as if to block out the noise. But it did her no good.

Actively avoiding the word of power, Rebecca stepped into the room and began searching for a chest around the side of the stone wall, while to her dismay, T'ariq and Felix became preoccupied with what was written within.

"Hey, Rebecca, come see this!" Felix called, his voice echoing off the stone slab. She shook her head fervently, the chanting of ancient Nordic warriors now almost deafening in her ears as she rummaged through the piles of loot.

"Nope, don't want to." she said, fully aware that she was only delaying the inevitable. "Hey, can you two see the Dragonstone? It's a slab of stone with carvings on it, about this big?" she held up her hands in the shape of the plate. Felix and T'ariq scoured the area around them, even tapping on the coffin (and giving Rebecca a heart attack), but there was no stone to be found.

"Oh for God's sake," she moaned, glancing at the word of power, now glowing a soft blue against the smooth stone wall. The stone must have been on the body of the Draugr that could only be triggered by learning the word of power. Because of course it was.

Felix looked at her, a curious gleam sparking in his warm brown eyes.  
"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping towards her. Rebecca screwed up her face, desperately wanting to do anything other than turn around and read that stupid word. She knew that once she had absorbed this first power, there was no turning back. She would be launched onto a path that she could not escape, the path that Tom had warned her about.

"Rebecca?" T'ariq's raspy growl sounded from her left, filled with the same concern that Felix had voiced. But she ignored them both, finding the courage from deep within her to turn on her heels and step toward the chanting voices.

"Keep an eye on that." she glanced over her shoulder at the coffin behind them, resisting one last surge of temptation to simply turn and flee.

Moving slowly forwards, Rebecca now gave into the magnetic force pulling her to the wall. The carvings along its stony sides seemed to sing about her ears, humming with the voices of those with the dragon blood who had come before her.

She reached a hand up to trace the markings, her fingers running along the indents in the ancient stone. Her eyes were focused so intensely on the word of power, that they began to sting as her heartbeat pumped in her ears. She heard T'ariq call out to her, but she couldn't make out his words. He sounded far away, as if in another world. Her mind was trained solely on the carvings in front of her, sharp and twisted as though inscribed by the very claws of a dragon. The light emitting from the word grew brighter and brighter, until she felt it would blind her if she didn't close her eyes. But the word burned through, scorching the characters on the inside of her eyelids as a rushing of wind replaced the chanting, and her mind was filled with a single thought;

 **Fus**

And then suddenly she was free. The wind ran through her and the pounding in her head began to slow. Bizarrely, she felt stronger, as though she had gained an understanding of something far deeper than herself.

The lid of the coffin popping open was what brought her back to reality, snapping her into the present and bringing flames to the tips of her fingers on instinct. The Draugr Overlord clambered out, in all his armoured glory, snarling and spitting at them as he lowered an ancient waraxe in his hands, his feet shoulder-width apart and planted firmly on the stone. He was ready for battle. But for once, so was Rebecca.

She gave a ferocious roar as her hands turned outward of their own accord, scorching him with red-hot flames that engulfed his withered skin and sent him to his knees, screeching as if in agony. Without pausing for breath, Rebecca drew her sword and lifted it high above her head, her mind strangely clear and in tune with every muscle in her body. With all the might she could muster, she sent it slicing through the air towards the creature, meeting its mettle with an ear-splitting clang that rang out across the cavern. The Draugr was much stronger than her, and pushed back against her blade with undeniable strength. It forced the girl back far enough to get to its feet, suddenly towering above her, axe raised, like the henchman of death himself.

Rebecca ducked nimbly out of the way, thankful for her light armour that allowed her to roll on her the ground without hinderance. The waraxe crashed down on the space she'd occupied a heartbeat before, sending up sparks from the force behind it. Seizing her opportunity, Rebecca lunged forwards on her knees and sliced at its leg, forcing it down to her level and giving her a chance to get back on her feet. Stunning the monster again with a blast of flames to the side of its skull, Rebecca found herself delivering the final blow to its head with a crack as though there were nothing more natural in the world. That haunting blue light in its eyes faded, until there was nothing left but the dark pits of a dead man, devoid of life.

Panting, the sound finally returned to Rebecca's ears with a sudden whoosh, and the force of ancient instinct that had consumed her disappeared. Yanking her sword from where it was lodged in the draugr's head, Rebecca leaned over the body to find the Dragonstone. She passed it off to T'ariq to hold. Her arms were far too tired from all of the swinging and singeing today, and she was now overcome with exhaustion. When T'ariq didn't immediately relieve her of the stone, Rebecca turned around to face her companions expectantly, looking up to find them both staring at her in stunned silence.

Rebecca couldn't help but let out a breathy laugh. "You two gonna stand there all day?"

Felix snorted and shook himself back to the present, taking the stone from her and placing it in his sling bag.

"You are just full of surprises."


	8. Chapter 8

Felix began to parcel out the gold and jewels as they made their way out of the Barrow and down the mountainside. T'ariq had been unusually quiet since the final battle, giving Rebecca cause for concern as his polar opposite, Felix the Fortunate, blabbered away like there was no tomorrow.

"So, where to next?" he finally paused. The sudden silence caught Rebecca's attention and snapped her back to the present.

"Huh? Oh, back to Whiterun for us," she explained. "But I expect you'll be returning to Riverwood?" She turned to Felix, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"Fat chance, freak," Felix scoffed, whacking her on the arm playfully. "You think I'm leaving this gig after all that?" he jerked a thumb back towards the looming black arches of the barrow as they headed down the mountain path. Rebecca frowned and shot him a glare.

"It wasn't _that_ exciting." she muttered.

"This one is referring to your fight against the draugr."

T'ariq voice was soft and thick, as though he were distracted. He certainly looked deep in thought, not meeting the eyes of either of his partners as he kicked his way through the last of the snow at their feet. Rebecca waited for him to elaborate. Was everyone really so shocked at her being able to defend herself for once?

T'ariq sighed, and came to a halt, an anxious gleam sparkling in his amber eyes.

"You were glowing," he explained, choosing his words carefully. "Your eyes had become a blue, like the draugr, and the body was glowing. I do not think this to be any magic known to man."

"It was really, _really_ cool." Felix beamed, watching her with wide eyes. Rebecca looked back and forth between her partners, uncertainty stiffening her joints. Now it was her turn to sigh, as she decided not to divulge the truth about what had occurred. If things all went according to the game, then they would find out soon enough anyway.

The trip to Whiterun was a little more subdued than the way up, despite Felix's incessant chattering. Rebecca was quickly learning that Felix was astoundingly oblivious to his surroundings, and had absolutely no ability to read the room in awkward situations. This irritated Rebecca more and more the further they went, until by the time they had reached the Whiterun stables she was ready to explode.

But, fortunately for her, Felix finally shut up as they entered the city and climbed the many steps up to Dragonsreach. T'ariq had not spoken since they had left the barrow, and took up the rear as they were welcomed back into the palace. Rebecca noticed that his tail was twitching in discomfort, as if the memory of being here and subjugating himself to Balgruuf was still all too fresh in his mind. A twinge of guilt shot through her when she noticed that the guards were still watching him carefully, one hand on their weapons.

They approached the throne to find the Jarl absent, and so veered right towards Farengar's study. The court wizard was inside, accompanied by a hooded character in leather armour, not unlike Rebecca's own. They seemed to be discussing a worn old book laid open on the table in front of the court wizard, their voices as familiar to her as those of her own friends.

"Ah!" Farengar started at the entrance of the three newcomers. The woman by his side also looked up, and for a moment, Rebecca caught a glimpse of her golden hair and fierce blue eyes. Farengar's eyebrows raised at the sight of the stone in her hand. "The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow. Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way." he chuckled. Rebecca stepped forward and laid it in front of him with a heavy thud.

"My…associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork." he gestured to Delphine, now hiding her face in the shadows of her leather hood. At Farengar's mention of her, she nodded to Rebecca, a curious gleam just visible from the depths of her gaze. She leaned over the table and brushed the Dragonstone with her hand, feeling the ancient inscription beneath her fingers.

"You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that?" she asked. Her voice sounded a little drier than Rebecca remembered, a little more suspicious than impressed. But Rebecca simply nodded, not in the mood to argue.

"We did." she pointed to Felix and T'ariq behind her, standing still and watching the exchange.

"Nice work," Delpine blinked, her focus turning to the two larger warriors behind her. She stood straight and headed for the door, walking out past the trio and glancing back at Farengar before she left. "Just send me a copy when you've deciphered it."

Rebecca was about to ask for their reward, eager to have some tangible compensation for the countless draugr they had endured at the barrow, when Irileth ran in, her eyes ablaze and her chest heaving.

"Farengar! You need to come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby," Her eyes shifted to T'ariq, Felix and Rebecca standing next to her. "You should come too." Then, without another word, she raced out and back upstairs. Felix and T'ariq shot eachother a nervous glance, while Farengar's eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas day. "A dragon! How exciting!"

The group hurried up the stairs to the upper quarters of the palace to find the Jarl leaning back against a great wooden table with a map of Skyrim. In front of him was stood a guard, his helmet off and hair as wild as his eyes. He was still panting when the others arrived, a short way behind the housecarl as she encouraged the guard to report to Balgruuf.

"I-I came from the Western Watchtower, my lord," he stammered. "There was a dragon circling overhead. We saw it coming from the south…I never ran so fast in my life."

Balgruuf placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded sternly.

"Good work, son. We'll take it from here." The guard saluted his Jarl before heading off down the stairs, presumably to the barracks. Balgruuf gave a long sigh as soon as he had left. He seemed to have aged about ten years since they had last seen him, his face lined and wearied from stress. He looked up at the odd collection of warriors and blinked in surprise, as if noticing them for the first time.

"Oh, you're back." Something in his voice told Rebecca that he hadn't expected them to return at all. "I'm afraid there's no time to stand on ceremony – I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon. You survived Helgen, so you have more experience than anyone else here," He paused to rub his eyes, getting to his feet reluctantly. "But," he raised a finger in the air and looked pointedly at Rebecca. "I haven't forgotten the service you did for me. As a token of my esteem, you have my permission to purchase property in the city."

Rebecca gave a little bow, Felix and T'ariq following her lead as Balgruuf nodded in recognition. He stepped behind the table and lifted a gleaming elven bow from inside a glass display case. It shone gold in the torchlight as he carried it towards her, offering it with outstretched arms. Rebecca could hardly believe her luck, and would likely have been beaming with glee if it wasn't for the imminent danger of the dragon awaiting them just outside of Whiterun.

"You should have this." The Jarl managed a weak smile as she took the bow, feeling the cold metal warm in her hands.

"Thank you." Rebecca dipped her head in respect, shifting the bow onto her back and casting one last glance at Balgruuf, his head hung with the weight of Whiterun, before she and her companions followed Irileth and the soldiers out of Dragonsreach and onto the moors.

She usually found the fields surrounding the city to be a comforting scene; the heather waving softly in the breeze and the setting sun turning the landscape a beautiful blazing yellow. But that evening, marching towards the smoking watchtower, Rebecca felt nothing but apprehension, flinching at the slightest flutter of wings or the chirping of birds in the trees. She could tell the others felt it too – the guards made no conversation as they hurried down the western road. Even Felix was silent for once. There was no sign of that playful glimmer in his baby browns now. Instead, it had been replaced by a look of stony determination set upon his childish features. But strangely, it was not the prospect of a battle with a dragon that scared Rebecca now. No, this time it was picking up the mantle of Dragonborn that made her knees buckle and her hands shake. It seemed that her destiny had been set from the moment that she had arrived in this bizarre world. But it was today, at the death of Mirmulnir, that she would accept the responsibilities of the Dovahkiin. _Do I still have time to run away?_

As they neared the tower, its ruins smouldering with dragonfire, a single guard approached them, waving his hands and screaming out a warning.

"No! Get back! It's still here somewhere!"

While Irileth and the other guards ran forwards to check on the madman, T'ariq, Rebecca and Felix headed up to the top of the tower to get a better view.

"Here." T'ariq pressed a batch of arrows into Rebecca's hand. "This one will need them."

Rebecca nodded absentmindedly, pulling out her bow and scanning the horizon. Any minute now it would come soaring out from behind the mountains, dark wings beating against the orange sky. T'ariq watched the girl, unblinking as she turned on a pivot. He knew that look in her eyes. Even in the short time they had been together, he had come to expect the unexpected when she caught that far off gleam in her green gaze.

"What is going to happen here?" he asked her, his raspy voice softer than usual. Rebecca blinked out of her trance and turned to the Khajiit with raised eyebrows.

"What do you mean?" she asked. T'ariq gave her a knowing look.

"Do not play with me, little kit." He purred gently, but his eyes were not so amused. He looked sad, almost as sad as Rebecca felt. "T'ariq knows what this face means," he raised a hand to her cheek and ran a furry fingertip across it. "This face is knowing something dark. This face is saying goodbye to something very dear."

Rebecca was surprised at the accuracy in his words, and for a moment, she wondered if he had somehow found a way into her head. She smiled wistfully before wrapping her arms tightly around the Khajiit's waist and pulling him into a hug. She couldn't quite bring herself to tell him the truth, largely because she was scared that if she did, it would all come spilling out in a torrent of fearful sobbing. And there was no time for that now.

Rebecca pulled away from his warm embrace, leaving security behind as the spine-chilling shriek of a dragon echoed between the mountains behind them. She readied her bow, setting an arrow from her quiver as Irileth yelled out commands to the soldiers from below. Felix reached into his pockets for as many daggers as he could find while T'ariq's fingers crackled with lethal electricity.

Mirmulnir came down from the southern peaks, his bronze back reflecting the last rays of the sun as he landed in the centre of the rubble with a deafening roar that knocked the guards to the ground. His wings and underbelly were a shade lighter, almost as pale as his giant teeth - even from up as high as she was, Rebecca could see that they were almost the same size as the guards themselves.

Shaking her nerves out of her system, Rebecca drew the string back on her bow as far as she could manage, and finally released, breathing out at the same time and feeling the bow shake as the arrow flew down toward the dragon. It landed in his neck, just a little off target, causing Mirmulnir to screech in fury. To her horror, the monster shifted on his perch, his fiery amber eyes locking onto her own as he located the source of the arrow. He beat his wings in a show of hostility, and for a moment, Rebecca was almost certain that she had seen a sickening smile spread across his deadly maw. The next second it was gone, as he opened his mouth to release a spurt of flames aimed right at her.

She let out a gasp as she was tackled to the ground by a sudden force around her waist. She landed heavily on the stone, yelping as she felt the brick beside her heating up until it was glowing red around the edges. She looked down to see Felix's blond mop buried in her side.

"Felix, are you alright?" she panicked. The Imperial looked up with a nonchalant glance at his hair, the ends of which were quite seriously singed. He shrugged and gave her a wink, getting to his feet and offering her a hand up.

"Never better." he grinned.

The dragon had since become preoccupied with T'ariq, firing jets of frost that slowed down and weakened its deadly breath. This gave Felix a chance to throw down some daggers, landing them all along the dragon's spine until it was lashing its tail back and forth in anger. All the while, the soldiers on the ground were firing arrow after arrow into its hardened hide, loosening scales here and there. Rebecca was aiming in particular at its less-protected underbelly, which the dragon was being careful not to leave on display as he crawled between the guards. Eventually, Irileth decided to lead a charge on the ground, since the arrows were barely making a dent in the dragon's natural armour.

"Come on," Rebecca called to T'ariq and Felix as she ran down the stairs, stashing her bow and reaching instead for the sword by her side. She knew firsthand the efficiency of short-range weapons against dragons, and didn't want to watch the guards getting picked off one by one while she cowered on the roof. Her companions hurried behind her as Mirmulnir gave another ferocious wail, accompanied by the sound of crackling flames. They stepped out onto the battleground and were immediately hit by a wave of heat, emanating from the terrifying figure of Mirmulnir, lit up in the sunset.

Rebecca caught her breath as she took in the full might of the dragon in front of her. She wanted to stay inside and hide forever, but the cries of the men ahead spurred her into action. She was scared stiff of the creature in front of her, but even more scared of the guilt that these dying soldiers might leave her with. Mustering up her courage, Rebecca conjured a ball of flames in one palm, swinging her blade menacingly in the other.

"Thuri du hin sil o Sovngarde!" the dragon growled, before lunging forwards and snatching up a guard in his mouth. Rebecca watched with wide eyes as his powerful jaws clamped down on the man, his screams muffled inside the dragon before being silenced with one last bite. A wave of anger came over the girl as she ran forwards, gritting her teeth as she approached the beast.

" **Mirmulnir**!" she shouted, her breath a thunderous cry that made Irileth jump beside her. The dragon's eyes narrowed into slits as he swallowed the guard, his muzzle spattered with a violent red colour.

"Finally." He grinned as the battle ground to a halt, revealing long, sharp teeth dripping blood. Rebecca took her place in front of the dragon, her heart racing in her chest as she raised her sword. Everything in Rebecca's body was screaming at her to run, her legs twitching as though they knew that death was inches away. But Tom's words had stuck with her since that night in Whiterun; she knew that this was her fate to face. She did not have the luxury of fear. There was no room for that now.

"You are brave," Mirmulnir gave a deep and throaty chuckle, his eyes alight with a ravenous glow. "Bahlaan hokoron. Your defeat gives me honour."

Rebecca saw the glow in the dragon's throat an instant before the flames. She ducked and rolled behind a boulder, screaming at the others to get down. The next second an inferno had engulfed the ground beside her, the dry grass ablaze and spreading fast. Rebecca realised that if she didn't move quickly, she would be trapped. And so, she leaped over the wall of heat, running straight at Mirmulnir with a battle cry that Ysgramor himself would've been proud of. Her speed had the desired effect; for the first time, a glimmer of fear was visible in the dragon's ember eyes, and he recoiled in surprise. Rebecca saw her chance and grabbed it - literally. She swallowed her pulse, which felt like it had risen to her throat in her fear, and reached for one of his long curved horns, swinging herself onto his neck.

Now she was out of the fire, but into the frying pan – Mirmulnir spat flames in his outrage, swinging his scaly head back and forth in an attempt to throw her off. But Rebecca held on tight, her breath coming in shallow gasps as her mind attempted to process the fact that she was currently seated atop a deadly, fire-spitting lizard. The moment the dragon paused, Rebecca took a huge lunge and threw her body forwards, onto his head. Without thinking, she covered one eyeball with her hand and used the same tactic that had worked so well earlier that day. She released the fireball that had been building in her hand right into the dragon's eye. The eyeball sizzled and popped under the heat, splattering gooey fluids down his face as the dragon let out a screech of pain. But despite her success, Rebecca had sacrificed her grip on Mirmulnir's neck to momentarily blind him, and was thrown into the side of the tower with a heavy thud that knocked the wind out of her and made her vision swim.

The next thing she knew, she was being hoisted up on a furry shoulder and carried away, the sounds of the battle muffling as he ran her inside the tower. She heard another long and terrible shriek from the dragon, although this time, to her satisfaction, it sounded as though it was edged with panic. The clashing of swords against scales commenced once again as the others rejoined the fight, and the dragon began to snarl not in fury, but in pain.

The furry hands dropped her against a stone wall, gently lowering her as her sword slipped out of her palm and landed with a clatter. Rebecca blinked slowly, and found herself looking into another set of blazing orange eyes. Her heart skipped a beat, before her vision cleared enough to reveal that this pair belonged to a Khajiit, not a dragon.

"When will this kit learn to stop throwing herself into battles that she cannot hope to win!" he hissed, baring his fangs at her. Rebecca's head was still a little fuzzy, and she couldn't understand his frustration. She raised a finger and tapped him on his little pink nose.

"And yet," she giggled. "I have never lost."

She heard T'ariq spit in frustration before running back to the fray, making her chuckle as she slowly pulled herself to her feet. Wobbling a little, it took her a few steps and several shakes of her head to snap herself back to stability. When she did, she was suddenly knocked back to the ground by a tremor in the earth, as several bricks fell down around her. Mirmulnir's final shriek faded to a moan as she rounded the corner and saw him lying in the upturned earth, his hide peppered with arrows and a large spear lodged in his neck. His eyes locked onto her own, fixing her in place for fear that he would find the strength to heave one last fiery breath.

"Dovahkiin?" His remaining eye was filled with horror, as though the consequence of this defeat were only just dawning on him. Rebecca found the courage to smile at him, more out of relief than spite. She dared to draw nearer, much to the shock of the guards, who yelled at her to step back. But she ignored them, kneeling down in front of the dragon, his breath hot and heavy on her chest as she nodded.

"No!" his great voice barely a whisper as he breathed his last. His eye stayed open as the life left his body, watching from the afterlife as the others gathered around to inspect the great beast.

"Damned good shooting, boys!" Irileth patted the nearest guard on the back, looking down at the dragon with a satisfied sneer.

"Is it really dead?" Felix stood beside her, watching Mirmulnir's body with a suspicious glare as it began to twitch. Irileth and the remaining guards stepped back in fear as the very flesh of the dragon seemed to combust before their eyes.

"Get back!" T'ariq pulled on Rebecca's arm but she wrestled free, drawn as if by a great natural force to the decaying form of her opponent. His monumental skeleton seemed to shake as it was revealed, each scale smoking as they burnt up like paper, no longer the impenetrable hide that had protected Mirmulnir in life. Rebecca felt the scene was strangely familiar, and not just because she had watched it a thousand times on the Xbox. No, this felt like she had done it before, in a past life, perhaps.

The winds of change rushed in her ears just as they had done in Bleak Falls Barrow, only this time she was hit with a force so strong it nearly knocked her over. Her body shook with the sheer power of the soul, and she gasped in shock as Mirmulnir's life flashed before her eyes. In the space of a moment she felt his hardship, his fury, and his might, all those centuries spent hiding in the mountains until he could exact his revenge, as he felt destiny had intended.

 _Well_ , Rebecca thought. _It seems destiny had other plans_.


	9. Chapter 9

"I can't believe it! You're…Dragonborn!"

Rebecca's hands were trembling. Strangely, she felt strong, as though she had gained a power that couldn't be stolen. But, her body was weak from a day filled with fighting and fire. It was an effort just to stand up – one of the guards ran forward to help her to her feet.

"What you did back there, in the battle, that was shouting." he told her. Rebecca could see the whites of his eyes through the slits of his helmet. He looked as though he couldn't decide whether he was afeared or in awe of her. She saw much the same expression in the eyes of her companions, who stood amongst the guards.

"My grandfather used to tell stories…"

"Never in all my years!"

"Can it really be true?"

Rebecca retrieved her sword while the guards started to babble. Irileth was glaring at her with a look of deep distrust that made her heart sink. Contrary to the game, becoming the Dovahkiin felt much weightier in reality, and she began to wonder if everyone would be as scared or suspicious of her powers as this lot.

"Come on." she murmured, gesturing for T'ariq and Felix to follow her as she turned to head back to Whiterun, leaving the colossal skeleton of the dragon behind. It seemed that the two men had exhausted their capacity for oddity that day, as for once they had nothing to say, and no penetrating questions to ask. Rebecca was grateful. As the first stars began to appear on the horizon, all she could think of were dreams of straw-filled beds and plump pillows.

"Dragonborn, wait!"

The company stopped and turned to see a single Whiterun guard jogging up to them. As he neared, he took off his helmet and dropped it on the ground, revealing a shock of platinum blonde hair tied back in a low ponytail, and several stripes of white war paint along his jawline, rising like snowy claw marks against his stubble. A couple of them ran over onto his lower lip, and had been smudged in all the fighting. He kneeled before Rebecca as he approached, almost making her laugh aloud in shock. Was this fool proposing?

"If you will have me, I pledge myself to your service," he panted, one hand on his heart and the other on the hilt of his greatsword, which was stuck into the ground by his side. "I will protect you with my life, and fight in every battle you choose to take, in defense or aggression. I swear my sword by your side."

Felix stepped forward, squaring his shoulders.

"Spot's taken, buddy." he growled. Rebecca pushed him to the side, an amused smile pulling at her lips. She cocked her head to the side as she considered the guard in front of her. He seemed brave, he was broad shouldered, and even through his chainmail she could tell that he was well-muscled. And, she thought to herself, they could certainly use an extra pair of arms in battle while she learnt how to fight.

Rebecca shrugged. Having made up her mind, she beckoned the man with a wave before turning around to continue their path back to Whiterun.

"Sure, you can tag along." she chuckled. The man cast a glance at T'ariq and Felix before getting awkwardly to his feet and following. He left his helmet behind on the pavement, not looking back as he jogged to catch up with Rebecca.

"I'm Angmar, by the way." he informed her, swinging his greatsword effortlessly back over his shoulder. Rebecca cast a glance at his deep blue eyes and gave him a half-smile.

"Rebecca." She almost gave him her hand to shake, before remembering that English etiquette was likely totally foreign to this hardy Nord.

Angmar smiled back. "Can I ask where you're from?"

"No." growled T'ariq. Rebecca turned, surprised at the hostile tone to his voice. She found herself unable to hold back a cackle of delight as she turned back to see the two men bristling behind her, shooting daggers at the back of Angmar's head.

"Excuse those two, they're just.." she trailed off, unable to find an excuse for her companions' manners. She turned the conversation back to Angmar, curious herself about his origins.

"Can I ask where _you're_ from?" She had noticed that he didn't have the thick Nordic accent common to the guards. Coupled with the unique warpaint, Rebecca was already building an assumption of his backstory in her head.

Angmar dipped his head with a wide smile. "I guess I don't fit in too well with the other guards, huh?" he chuckled. "I'm from the Reach. I'm came to Whiterun in Last Seed to get away from the chaos in the West."

Rebecca nodded slowly. "I don't blame you."

"Anyway, the guard's life didn't really appeal to me," he admitted. "I prefer to be out in the field, with the real action."

When they arrived in Whiterun they were shepherded straight back to Dragonsreach by the guards, who shot venomous looks at Angmar. As expected, the Greybeards' earth-shattering summons echoed between the mountains just as they were ascending the steps to the palace.

"What in all of Tamriel was-?"

Rebecca silenced Angmar with a wave of her hand. "Ignore them, we'll get to that later." But Agmar simply stood, astounded as she walked past him towards the front doors.

"But-"

"You get used to it." T'ariq shot him a wry smile, climbing onwards.

Later that night, when Rebecca had been proclaimed thane of Whiterun, and was afforded the Axe for her services to the hold, the party found a celebration of sorts awaiting them in the Bannered Mare. From the moment they stepped through the doors, mugs were raised in their honour and they were cheered for defeating the dragon all night long. Their rooms were even payed for by an anonymous nobleman. All of the sudden affection and gratitude warmed Rebecca's heart, lifting some of the burden that she had been carrying since that morning in the Barrow.

"Long live the Dovahkiin!"

Rebecca turned on her stool to nod her thanks as another round of toasts began. _Well, this is certainly more appreciation than I ever got in the game_ , she thought with a smile.

"It's funny, you speak like an altmer, look like a Nord, and act like a noblewoman." Angmar gave a deep chuckle after his third pint of mead. Rebecca was beginning to get uncomfortable with how many questions he was asking, and had been avoiding any drink herself in case she spilled some secrets. She was beginning to wonder whether accepting the Reachman into their little group had been such a good idea after all.

Rebecca was saved from answering by the smack of doors against the wall, heralding the arrival of the Companions. The inn roared with excitement and the citizens of Whiterun descended into drunken chaos. Women of all ages raced after Farkas and Vilkas, who shrugged them off with sulking glares. Skjor was immediately challenged to wrestle with some very drunken men, one of which included a barely-conscious Belethor. To Rebecca's amazement, Aela herself came marching over to the bar at which they sat, and flung an arm around the little girl.

"Well done," she gave her a mighty slap on the back that almost made Rebecca cough up the ale she was sipping. "It seems I had you wrong – you're much stronger than a whelp."

Rebecca stammered something unintelligible, which the Huntress completely ignored, ordering herself a beer from the bar before turning back to Rebecca.

"I've been sent here to extend an invitation," she explained, her voice deepening to avoid being overheard. She reached over Rebecca's shoulder to grab her tankard and stayed there, her lips brushing the younger woman's ear as she spoke. "Kodlak would like you to come and test your mettle at Jorrvaskr."

This time Rebecca truly did spit out her drink.

"Me?" she gasped, more for lack of breath than out of shock. Aela tipped her head back and roared with laughter. "Yes, you girl! Any woman who can slay a dragon is worthy of a seat in our mead hall." She was looking at Rebecca with fondness, her lips twitching in amusement.

"Thank you!" Rebecca was at a loss for words, still far too intimidated by her presence for her brain to function properly. Aela gave her another hard slap on the back before heading off to her fellow Shield-Brothers, her red hair glowing like flames in the firelight.

A Companion…already? Rebecca hardly knew what to think. In the space of a few days she had gone from complete incompetence to bringing down a dragon. Although, not without a lot of help, she reminded herself. And, all of the times she had really stepped up to the plate had largely been with the assistance of her dragon blood. She still had a long way to go if she hoped to defeat Alduin someday, let alone prove herself to Kodlak Whitemane.

Rebecca watched Angmar from across the room as he chatted up a few giggling maidens, having taken off his armour and replaced it with a cuirass that exposed his rippling biceps. Perhaps he could train her to fight properly. He was clearly pretty handy with a sword, and Rebecca was going to need all the help she could get in the adventures that lurked around the corner.

"So," Felix slammed his tankard in between T'ariq and herself, leaning on the bar and fixing Rebecca with that stupid smirk of his. "Got a thing for the Forsworn, eh?"

T'ariq rolled his eyes as she groaned. He got to his feet and placed a couple of gold coins in front of the innkeeper.

"This one needs rest." was all he said, an ear twitching in irritation as he headed up the stairs and towards their rooms. Rebecca turned her sour gaze back to Felix, who was leaning perilously close to her face.

"Look what you did." she complained, throwing an arm up in T'ariq's direction. Felix waved a hand dismissively, his eyes fixed on her lips as he moved ever closer. Rebecca practically stumbled off her chair in order to put some space between them, leaning instead against the wall beside the fire and smiling meekly.

"But seriously," Felix chuckled, before glancing over at Angmar with a glare of uncharacteristic severity. "Do you like him?"

Rebecca scoffed in disbelief. She almost did a double take, her eyes shifting back and forth between the two blonde-haired men to see if Felix would let up and admit he was kidding.

"Oh, you want a genuine answer," she raised her eyebrows and took another sip from her mug, the frothy ale spilling a little onto her leather battle skirt. Rebecca made sure that she was looking straight at Felix when she answered, so that he could see the sincerity in her gaze. "No, Felix the dumbass, I do not fancy Angmar."

Felix frowned in confusion, cocking his head to the side a little before Rebecca realised her mistake. "Too many weird words?" she asked, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips.

Felix nodded, grinning. His warm brown eyes seemed to travel her face as if savouring every detail. Before she knew what he was doing, Felix had slipped one hand around her waist and the other on the wall above her, leaning right up against her cheek. "Good." he murmured, his voice low and sultry against the background cacophony of the Bannered Mare. Rebecca's smile faded when she felt something stirring deep within her as the blood rushed up to her face. She felt like a deer in the headlights as his fingers inched around to her hip, allowing him to press his lean, sunkissed body against her. She couldn't escape if she wanted to - which, with a start, she realised that she didn't.

Squirming to bring her arms up against his shoulders, Rebecca found the strength to push him back a ways so that he wasn't quite so temptingly close. Searching desperately for a distraction, her eyes landed on the tattoo on his shoulder, the rough black lines etching out the wings of the Imperial dragon.

"What's the story behind this?" she scrambled, her cheeks still red hot as she looked away, tapping the scarred skin.

Felix looked down at where her fingers lay, a sad smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"How about a story for a story?" he proposed. "Why don't you tell me something about your homeland?"

Rebecca nodded. "Ok, that seems fair," she admitted. "Um…let's see…It's cold, but not as cold as here. The city where I'm from is very big, much bigger than any in Tamriel, and its very noisy and busy most of the time. The roads are all filled with metal carts, but aside from all that, parts of it are really lush, and beautiful."

Felix watched her eyes glaze over as she spoke, and knew that she had gone back home in her mind. "You must miss it a lot."

She nodded absentmindedly before turning back to him. "Your turn." she grinned. Felix hung his head in defeat.

"Ok, ok," he chuckled. "Well, I grew up in a small town in the Colovian highlands…in Cyrodiil," he added, upon seeing the confusion in Rebecca's eyes. "Not far from the border with Falkreath, actually. Anyway, my pa wanted me to take over the farm when he got older, but I've hated the idea. I can't think of anything worse than being stuck in that village for the rest of my life."

He took a long swig of his lager before carrying on. "One day, he got sick, and it looked like he wasn't going to make it…so I ran off to join the Imperial army." He tapped his shoulder. "That's how I got this. And how I ended up in Helgen. I ditched when I saw the dragon," he shook his head. "Decided I didn't want to be stuck guarding some hamlet when the end of the world arrived." Felix caught one of those glints in his eye that Rebecca had always seen as sorrow. Now she knew it to be regret.

Rebecca stepped up onto her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Felix blinked in surprise before hugging her back.

"I guess we've both left homes we can't return to." she sighed as she pulled back. The two shared a forlorn smile as they returned to the bar and started betting on how many women Angmar could woo before the night was over. After a little while, Felix turned to her with a curious grin.

"Metal carts?" he asked as Rebecca burst into a fit of giggles. "But wouldn't they be too heavy for the horses to pull?"

She shook her head as her laughter subsided. "That's an question for another day."

The townsfolk began to sing heartily along to Mikael's flute, a jaunty tune that tempted her over towards the fire. Rebecca decided suddenly that she wanted to join them, and stood up far too fast. Her head swam and spots appeared in her vision, causing her to slump back down and onto Felix's lap.

"Woah," she groaned. "Guess I had more to drink than I realised."

"Come on," Felix grunted as he lifted her back onto her feet, ducking so that he could slip an arm under her own and help her along. "I think it's time the princess had her beauty sleep."

"I am not a princess!" Rebecca tried to whack Felix and missed, her hand slapping back down onto her own thigh as she batted at thin air. Felix only chuckled, hoisting her up so that he could carry her up the stairs. Rebecca giggled stupidly before leaning back in his arms, enjoying the musky scent of sweat and, oddly, lavender oil on his shoulders before drifting off into a peaceful sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning Rebecca staggered down the stairs with messy hair and a scowl so sour it could curdle milk. To her annoyance, the men were already seated at the bar, fully dressed and finishing up their porridge. Somehow, not one of them looked as hungover or tired as she did, yet they had drank much more the night before.

She slumped onto a stool and ordered some bread and butter from the innkeep, silencing Felix's giggle with a glare.

"This one is feeling good, yes?"

Rebecca winced. T'ariq's rumbling chuckle sounded like a foghorn in her sensitive ears. She looked up at him to see that familiar glimmer of amusement in his amber eyes as he offered her his drink. Rebecca glanced inside suspiciously before taking a sip, fearful of any strong flavours that might make her hurl.

"So, where to, Dragonborn?" Angmar asked, his voice cheery, and also far too loud. Rebecca thanked the innkeep with a nod as she took a bite of her bread.

"It's Rebecca," she mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs.

"T'ariq thinks we should gather supplies before heading off to Ivarstead," the Khajiit suggested. "This is where the Greybeards live, no?"

Rebecca nodded along, her head too fuzzy to think straight. But even in her hindered position, she saw the sense in his idea. They had, after all, picked up a lot of coin in the Barrow, and then from the Jarl. Now might be the time to load up on potions, and maybe even invest in a horse to carry their equipment.

"Maybe I can get a better set of armour." she pondered.

"As long as by 'better', you don't mean heavier," Felix snorted down the end of the bar. "You can barely lift the stuff you have now!"

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "That's not true," she sniffed. "I'm getting stronger every day."

The men shared a glance as Rebecca rolled her eyes and finished up her meagre breakfast.

"So I guess we _are_ keeping this after all," Felix pulled the Golden Claw out of his bag, its reflection gleaming in his eyes as he held it up to the light. Rebecca's eyes widened at the sight of it, suddenly remembering her promise to Lucan.

"Oh, shit!" she gasped. "I completely forgot! We'll have to stop off at Riverwood then, to give it back to Valerius."

Felix groaned and dropped the Claw back into his back. "Forget I said anything." he grumbled, as he hopped off the barstool.

The group were just gathering up their things and getting ready to head out into Whiterun, when a young woman clad in steel armour stepped in through the door. Rebecca almost laughed aloud as the warrior moved towards them, her brown hair falling over the plates of her armour like a chocolate waterfall.

"Hello, I'm looking for Rebecca." Her blue eyes twinkled, and she made an effort to smile at each one of them. "I'm her new housecarl, Lydia."

Rebecca took a step towards her, her grin paired with a poisonous glare.

"Yes, hello, I'm Rebecca, and I won't be requiring your services, thank you." she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She had to repress another giggle as Lydia's face fell in confusion.

T'ariq appeared at Rebecca's shoulder. "Eh, Rebecca," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Excuse me, but if we are planning to kill the World-Eater, do we not need all of the help we can get?"

"Not from this one we don't." Rebecca announced, her decision final. Without waiting for anyone else to try and convince her, she moved straight past the housecarl. "Come on boys!" she called over her shoulder as she kicked open the door of the Bannered Mare, swinging her bag over her shoulder.

They wasted no time, splitting up into pairs so that they could get on the road as fast as possible. It would certainly be a much slower journey if they were to venture up the mountain to Riverwood first. Angmar and Felix headed off to Arcadia's Cauldron for another batch of healing and magicka potions. They came back to Rebecca and T'ariq like two little boys in front of a mother, their purchases in their arms and grinning with pride.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "No potions to cure disease? Nothing for poison?"

The boys turned around, crestfallen, and headed back to the Cauldron while T'ariq purred. The Khajiit and herself gathered some basic supplies from the market, but only what they really needed, as T'ariq insisted that they hunt on the road to save money. Some of the Whiterun citizens smiled and waved at them as they walked around the town, some faces familiar to Rebecca from the night before, and some a little more hazy.

They stopped off at Warmaiden's to buy another few sets of arrows, seeing as Rebecca had found herself more comfortable with the bow than the sword. As they packed their purchases tightly into quivers, T'ariq shot her another of his curious looks.

"What?" she asked, glancing at her friend with suspicion. That face was reserved for penetrating questions, but surely in the last couple of days, he'd had his fill.

"Nothing," T'ariq shook his broad head, a mischievous sparkle dancing in his amber eyes. "I do not think it my place to ask."

Rebecca stopped packing and stood straight for a moment, her hands on her back. He looked up at her to find another scathing glare aimed right at him.

"Alright," he chuckled. "This one simply wonders if anything happened last night…" he trailed off, looking at her meaningfully. Rebecca was lost. T'ariq hung his head, his whiskers twitching with laughter. "Between the kit and the boy."

Rebecca's jaw dropped, and she lunged forward to throw a slap at the cat. But he was too fast, and ducked around her nimbly.

"No, that is certainly not your place to ask!" she scoffed in disbelief as T'ariq fought to hold back a fit of laughter. He raised his hands as if in surrender.

"I do not judge."

"And _I_ do not sleep with strangers!" Rebecca cried.

"T'ariq did not suggest anything of this kind." he rasped, packing the last of the arrows into his own leather quiver and slinging it onto his back. Rebecca was still a little hot in the face by the time the gang had returned to the centre of town, laden with their new goodies. Felix immediately jabbed a finger at her reddening cheeks, just as she knew he would.

"What's all this about?" he teased.

"Nothing!" she snapped back, sending the men into another chorus of laughter as she stomped off to the gates, not waiting to see if the others would follow.

Even walking down past the city sentries was an effort with all of their baggage, so the company bought an old cart horse from Skulvar Sable-Hilt at the stables, on which they draped in their bags and tugged along behind them.

The journey back up to Riverwood was surprisingly pleasant; the weather held out and the sun shone down on their backs as they climbed the southern road. They made good time too, largely due to the absence of weight that they had been lugging around in the past few days. T'ariq and Felix seemed to have warmed to Angmar after last night, and the three men fell into easy conversation as they puffed up alongside the rushing river. Even Rebecca felt her heart lighten, particularly as she knew that there was nothing especially dangerous expecting them in Ivarstead. In fact, with her three companions, she felt safer than she ever had since landing in this frozen country.

Lucan and Camilla were, as expected, ecstatic to have the claw back in their shop. They thanked the travellers profusely for their efforts, and even handed Rebecca a hefty purse of four hundred septims. Felix stopped off to drop in on his friends in the Sleeping Giant Inn briefly before they were back on the road, heading down the mountain to take the eastern road towards Ivarstead. Once they had reached the signposts by the river, they decided to sit down and break for a little while, to rehydrate and catch their breath.

Looking around at the tall pine trees and singing birds around her, Rebecca decided now would be a good time to practice her archery. Digging out her bow from one of the bags atop their new horse, she slotted a steel arrow into place and wandered a little way off the road towards a clump of trees next to the bridge. She liked the feel of the metal in her hands, the way it moved lithely as she did, not too heavy and yet weighty enough to satisfy her as a weapon. The carvings along the sides were ornate, beautiful swirls and bumps in the quicksilver that helped her get her grip as she pulled the string back to the corner of her mouth, just like she had been taught. It felt like having a piece of home with her, casting her mind back to her childhood on summer camps and ranges, where she had always favoured the bow.

Rebecca narrowed her eyes, focusing on a slender branch just a few metres from her. She was about to loose her arrow when she felt the hair raise on the back of her neck, as though someone were standing inches away.

"Hi princess."

Rebecca practically jumped, Felix's breath hot on her neck. He startled her so much that she ended up firing into the eartg a few yards away, missing the pine by miles. She whipped around at him, her green eyes ablaze. "Can't you see I was concentrating?" she barked. Felix only laughed, infuriating her further as she stalked off into the grass, scanning the undergrowth for the arrow she had lost.

"You're so cute when you're mad." Felix sniggered as she returned, shooting him daggers.

Rebecca decided to ignore him and continued to practice. She fitted another arrow into place and drew the string back tight, her elbow nearly catching Felix in the eye as she stepped back. This time Felix let her aim without distraction. The steel tip landed with a reassuring _thwack_ into the tree she had intended. Rebecca blinked in surprise before retrieving it with a little smile of pride.

"Nice shot." Felix commended her.

"Thank you," Rebecca replied stiffly. "Can I ask if there's a reason you ventured over here?"

Felix shrugged innocently, flashing her his pearly whites as he shrugged. "Just your company."

Rebecca loosed another arrow, this time narrowly missing the tree and landing on the ground close by. T'ariq called over to the pair, beckoning them back as him and Angmar got to their feet. Felix and Rebecca walked in silence, a little ways behind the men as they started back on the road, the gentle clip-clopping of the horse echoing between the stony hills.

Rebecca refused to start up a conversation with Felix. In fact, she was almost tempted to demand that he walk with the other two, in case the Khajiit turned around and assumed the worst. For the second time in the last twenty four hours, she caught a faint whiff of that lavender oil from the boy, overpowered a little by the scent of salt and leather.

"So…" Felix whistled. "You're not from Tamriel."

Rebecca frowned. "What are you trying to do?" she asked him.

"I'm trying to get to know you." he smirked. Rebecca forced herself to look away, letting the silence lengthen as he kicked a stone along the path.

"Ok then." He tried again. "What about the Greybeards? Will you tell me about them, or is that a secret too?"

Something in his voice sounded childish, almost like a whine, that made Rebecca look up and concede a smile. Felix noticed and pressed on. "No, really – do you have a thing for old men or is there a reason we're climbing the tallest mountain in Skyrim?"

Rebecca stifled a giggle as he watched her, affection seeping into his warm brown eyes.

"They're masters of the Voice," she explained. "They can teach me to shout, and they've summoned me to their fortress, High Hrothgar, at the Throat of the World."

"Why can't they come down to us?" Felix complained.

"They live in seclusion."

"These Nords," Felix shook his head, grinning. "So dramatic."

Rebecca allowed herself a laugh as they passed the Ritual Stone, avoiding the necromancer that she knew to be lurking there.

"I guess so." She tucked a curly strand of hair behind one ear.

The pair began kicking a stone between the two of them as they marched on down the road. Every now and again Felix would leap to the side to fire her an extra hard shot that forced her to run up ahead, giggling. Eventually she kicked the rock too hard, and it bounced down the road out of their reach. Rebecca looked up to search for it and instead found her heart skipping a beat at the sight of a stone tower looming in the distance.

"T'ariq!" she hissed. Hearing the urgency in her tone, T'ariq stopped in his tracks. She beckoned him over, moving to the side of the road and casting anxious glances at the fort.

"That's Valtheim Towers," she whispered. "There's a whole group of bandits in there, maybe six or more, and one of them is has got some heavy duty armour."

"How do you know for sure?" Angmar came over, his brow furrowed with concern.

T'ariq ignored him. "Can we pass them without a fight?"

Rebecca shook her head. "I don't think so. Not without giving up all our gold, and probably the horse."

The cat was still, mumbling under his breath and counting something on his clawed fingers. After a moment he nodded. "Ok. We go in and take them together, quietly so that we do not alert the group," he pointed at Angmar and Felix, who nodded. "You stay on the ground and find shelter." he finished, looking at Rebecca.

"But-" she protested. T'ariq silenced her with a stern glare.

"Fire some arrows if you must, but do not follow us inside." he ordered her. Rebecca folded her arms, reluctantly agreeing as the three warriors set off, leaving her on the side of the road with the horse and luggage. They stuck to the plan, taking out the guard outside without a sound before breaking into the tower and making their way up towards the walkway above them. Rebecca, refusing to be left on standby, pulled out her bow and arrows and took aim at the biggest bandit, patrolling across the bridge. She steadied her shaking hands, waiting until he turned around, searching for the audible intruders before she let the arrow fly through the air. It landed on his foot, pinging off the steel plate armour harmlessly. But it was enough of a distraction for him to pause, allowing Rebecca to fire another, higher this time, which landed in his neck, staggering him. Felix appeared a moment later and finished the hulking bandit off, slicing at his throat. Rebecca was happy then to be on the ground – at least she didn't have to see the blood.

The trio raced across the bridge to the other tower, leaving the one closest to Rebecca cleared. Tying the horse's lead to a nearby tree, she made her way into the building, searching the chests and drawers for any useful clothing or items that they may have left behind. She grimaced at the body of a Redguard bandit, her eyes still staring at the ceiling above her. Her body was still warm as Rebecca searched through her pockets and boots for any extra gold.

Not daring to cross the walkway yet, she chose instead to go farther up, bagging a slice or two of stale bread that had been left out on the table. She was just about to head up to the top of the tower in search of a chest when a searing pain flashed through her thigh. Rebecca let out a cry and dropped to one knee. She looked down at the focal point of the burning sensation to see an orcish arrow, the head of which was buried in her upper thigh, and glowing orange with flame.

Another shot whizzed past her ear and landed behind, lighting the carpet underneath her on fire. Shuffling herself awkwardly underneath the stair case, Rebecca gritted her teeth against the stabbing waves of pain. Her muscles were seizing up around the shaft of the arrow, but despite the agony, she knew she had to move out of cover, and get a look at her attacker. Jerking to the side, Rebecca rolled out from under the wooden stairs to see a blond bandit on the platform above her, his bow still taut and ready to fire another deadly shot. She ducked as the bolt of fire stuck itself into the floorboards with a hiss. Rebecca saw an opening as he reloaded, her hands warming with the heat of her conjured flames. She closed her eyes, blocking out the smell of charred flesh as she channelled her pain into magic.

Her fireballs exploded around the bandit, one on the wood beneath him and one up above. But despite the shaking and smell of smoke all around him, the bandit hung on, drawing another arrow and aiming down at her with a cold glint in his eyes.

" **FUS**!"

Rebecca let out a thunderous roar that vibrated deep within her chest, and sent rippling waves of wind rushing up at her assailant. With a yell of panic, the bandit was thrown against the wall behind him. He stumbled forward and came crashing down below, as the board underneath him snapped in two. He landed dazed, but still very much alive, barely a metre from Rebecca. Blood roared in her ears as instinct took over. A screech of pain escaped her as she reached into her boot for her dagger, lunging forward as thick clouds of smoke rose high into the air around them. In one swift movement she had plunged the iron into his throat. Blood, hot and crimson, sprayed her face. The bandit's pale eyes glazed over, fixed on her own as she kneeled above him, her eyes wild as she panted.

In an instant, the adrenaline seemed to fade, and Rebecca was left with only the stabbing pain in her thigh as embers began to fall from the ceiling. Her lungs filled with smoke and she coughed meekly, collapsing on the ground beside her victim as he gurgled and choked on his own blood.


	11. Chapter 11

A dull ache pulled Rebecca back to consciousness. She blinked, confusing the darkness in her vision for slumber, and assuming that she hadn't really woken at all. But as her eyes adjusted, and the ringing in her ears faded, Rebecca found that what she was staring at was actually skin and bone – it was just very close to her face. The gentle sounds of footsteps on stone and the plodding of a horse filled her head, as she drank in the soft scent of lavender oil. But underneath it, she picked up the clinging smell of smoke, throwing her mind back, as if in a dream, to a vague and dark memory. Someone had been yelling, loudly, and she could barely see a thing. Her lungs felt heavy and she wheezed as a pair of arms pulled her from the haze and lifted her from the flames.

Rebecca felt a tickle in the back of her throat and coughed meekly, surprised at the stinging sensation that followed. It felt raw, like someone had peeled off a layer of skin inside her, and burned when she breathed.

"Rebecca?"

The skin beneath her hummed as her carrier spoke. Not wanting to subject her throat to further pain, she nodded.

"Hey, wait up!" the voice called. "She's awake!"

Rebecca was gently lowered onto the ground, the stone freezing against her back. It felt particularly cold in one spot on her shoulder, where it appeared that a part of the fabric in her cuirass had been singed away. Felix's face came swimming into view, his eyes filled with concern and his face lined with a fear that didn't suit his boyish features.

"Hey, princess," he murmured, stroking a thumb across her cheek. Rebecca reached a hand up to his, interlacing her fingers with his own. His felt soft and gentle, and smelled of iron.

"Are you alright little kit?" T'ariq asked, appearing at her side and looking her up and down with an anxious frown. His amber eyes shone like lamps in the night sky. She nodded slowly, taking in their surroundings for the first time. Her brows knit together as she failed to recognise the forest around them.

"Where are we?" she asked, her words coming out in rasps.

"Still on the eastern road." Angmar's gravelly voice sounded from just behind Felix, and she looked up to see him and the horse, barely more than silhouette's in the darkness.

"Are we near Ivarstead yet?" she asked, wincing as she pushed herself upright with her uninjured leg. She realised that someone had snapped the shaft of the arrow off whilst she had been out cold, but the tip was still stuck in her skin, in a bed of dried blood. Her sense was returning the more she breathed in the cold air, but now she was more anxious. The moon was high in the sky, and they didn't look like they were anywhere near a settlement.

T'ariq shook his head, his dark fur melting into the shadows. "We moved much slower after Valtheim." he glanced down at her leg, where the arrow head still lay, embedded in her thigh. Rebecca felt a guilty blush rise in her cheeks. "It is unlikely we will arrive before morning."

"Can you stand?" Felix asked. Rebecca placed her hands on the stone pavement beneath her, lifting her torso and trying to shift some weight onto her wounded leg. But the moment she tensed the muscles in her thigh, another jolt of pain surged through her, and she fell back with a gasp.

"We'll have to make camp for the night." Felix grunted, catching her before she hit the ground. T'ariq shook his head. "That wound needs to be treated, or else it will infect."

Angmar came jogging back to them from a quick sprint down the road.

"It looks like there's a mining settlement a little further down," he panted. "Maybe someone there can help."

And so they staggered on down the path a ways, until they came to a crossing in the roads. To their left was a bridge over a river, with soft torchlight casting the small homes in shadow.

"I know this place," Rebecca grunted, her arms slung across Felix and T'ariq's shoulders for support. "This is Darkwater Crossing." Unease flickered across her gaze as she tried to remember what the locals were like. Perhaps they wouldn't offer them any help. Her apprehension only increased when she saw an Imperial soldier standing guard at the other end of the bridge.

"Halt! Who goes there?" The solder drew his sword as they approached.

Angmar stepped forward with his hands raised. "Travellers, looking for a place to rest." He moved aside to reveal Rebecca hung between the Khajiit and Imperial, her leather trousers still wet with blood. The Imperial nodded and sheathed his sword, standing by to allow them to pass.

Rebecca stopped to rest on a boulder, breathing heavily as Angmar ran toward the nearest house, knocking on the door. A couple of miners, sleeping in bed rolls by a fire nearby had woken up and were watching the newcomers suspiciously. One mother beckoned her daughter over to her bedside, clutching at the little girl protectively.

"Yes, what is it?" A young Nord woman with short cut blonde hair opened the door and stood, hands on her hips and a pickaxe slung around her waist.

"Excuse me ma'am, but we have an injured girl with us who needs a bed, and a healer, if you know one," Angmar explained, gesturing to Rebecca. The walking had shifted the arrowhead in her thigh and reopened the wound. She was losing blood fast, and her face had begun to pale.

The Nord looked her up and down. "You're in luck. An elf who calls himself a mage has stopped for the night. Maybe he can help you," she said, opening up the door to reveal an Altmer dressed in emerald green robes. Rebecca immediately relaxed. Those were expert mage robes, she recognised them from her college playthroughs. This man would at least know Healing Hands. "But," the woman went on. "I only have one bed to offer, and I don't tend to make bedfellows of strangers."

Felix left Rebecca's side and went up to the door. "That's fine, we can sleep outside, we have bedrolls – but our girl really needs a bed for the night."

"It's fine guys, I can sleep in the tent." Rebecca muttered through chattering teeth.

"Isn't there something we could do for you, in exchange?" Angmar suggested.

The woman paused for a moment, running a hand through her blonde hair. "Well, now that you mention it, there is something you could help with," she sighed. "But come on in. She must be freezing."

Rebecca was indeed shivering when they brought her, or more accurately carried her, into the modest home. She was very lightheaded, and unable to do much other than shudder on her own. But the house had a crackling fireplace and a warm mug of brandy waiting for her inside, so she didn't notice the nervous glances that the townsfolk were throwing her way.

They lay her down on a bed in the basement, where her companions gathered around her protectively. The mage had to barge his way through, ordering them to step back and give her some space before he examined the wound.

He was a pale gold, his hair an unusual chestnut brown for a high elf. His eyes were also much kinder than most of his race, ivy green and shaped like almonds. After prodding around her thigh a little, he looked up at her, those bright eyes shining gently.

"I'm going to have to take it out," he said softly, pointing at the metal head still lodged inside her. "This might hurt a little."

Rebecca nodded, gritting her teeth as he placed his long fingers around the splintered end of wood poking out from her leg. Strangely, although the elf was in no way familiar to her, his accent was comforting, and took her back to memories of sitting in doctor's offices back in London.

But she was yanked out of that brief sense of security by the removal of the arrow head, sending bolts of searing pain shooting through her thigh. Rebecca cried out, biting her lip and trying to choke back a sob as tears sprang into the corners of her eyes. Felix flinched, almost jerking forward as if to help, before he caught himself and folded his arms to keep from twitching.

"There." the elf sighed. The pain quickly began to ebb, and was replaced by a warm glow as the mage hovered his hand above the wound. The group watched, wide-eyed, as the deep gash sealed over itself, until it was barely as thin as a papercut.

"Thank you." Rebecca rasped. The Altmer glanced up at her again, this time curiously.

"Is there something wrong with your lungs, too?" he asked.

"Smoke." she explained, not wishing to say more than she had to, when every word felt like a match being lit within her throat. He nodded, moving his hands up and over her chest. They began to glow a soft golden colour, little beams of light swirling around his palms as he frowned in concentration. As if by magic, Rebecca felt her throat soothe and her breath come easier by the second, until there was no sign that she had nearly burned to death at all.

"Wow," she exhaled. "I need to learn that one."

The elf chuckled. He turned to the men behind him. "I might ask that you leave us in privacy for a moment?" he asked, gesturing subtly to the remains of the wound on her inner thigh. Felix began to object before Rebecca cut him off.

"I'm fine guys," she reassured them. "Go set up for the night."

Once the boys left the building, the elf turned back to her, glancing up apologetically.

"I'm afraid I have to ask you to remove your trousers."

Upon seeing the bandage and pin in his hands, she willingly shuffled on the bed, stripping down to her pants so that he could wrap the roll of fabric around the little red lines. Rebecca watched him work, leaning across her healer to sip on her little mug of brandy for warmth. The drink trickled through her like liquid strength, thawing her insides and relieving the ache in her bones.

"What's your name?" she ventured.

"Lift, please."

She shifted upwards, surprised at the return of strength in her leg so suddenly. The mysterious mage slipped the bandage around her thigh, and sealed it off with a little pin, putting a dab of wax on the end. Presumably this was so that she couldn't accidentally stab herself by rolling around in the night.

"Feraldur." he answered, leaning back from his position beside the bed, admiring his handiwork. "And yours?"

"Rebecca."

He turned away politely as she slipped her bloody trousers back on, sliding under the bearskin blanket for good measure as she took another sip of whisky. When Feraldur shifted back to face her it was with another curious look.

"Excuse my prying, but you haven't ever visited the Summerset Isles, have you?" he asked.

Rebecca shook her head. "No, why?"

"Forgive me. Your accent led me to believe…I haven't returned to my homeland in a very long time, you see." His smile was wistful, the twinkle in his eye forlorn. It was a combination that Rebecca was coming to know very well. It seemed she had a habit of bumping into lost little runaways. What was it about Skyrim that attracted people who wanted nothing more than to go back home? The land was like a daedric prince in its ability to manipulate, luring travellers and then trapping them in its cold embrace.

Feraldur stood up with a short puff of breath. "Try not to move too much, lest you reopen the wound." he advised, before bidding her goodnight and returning upstairs. Exhaustion seeping quietly back into her muscles, Rebecca found herself quickly overcome, and decided to take the elf's advice to heart and go straight to sleep. Blowing out the candle by her bedside, she took one last sip of the syrupy brandy, her mind wandering after the golden-skinned man with the almond shaped eyes.

The next morning Rebecca awoke to find the Nord lady poking her awake, grumpily presenting her with a bowl of porridge as she hurriedly sat up in bed. She informed her that her friends were awake and waiting for her upstairs, so without hesitation, Rebecca threw off the bearskin and plodded up the staircase, bleary-eyed and slurping on her breakfast.

The men received her with a cheer, happy to find her walking again and without any hint of the previous injury. Feraldur was also there, sitting at the table with them and drinking from a jug of milk. He gave her a smile as she pulled up a chair, picking bits of straw out of her messy hair.

"How is your wound?" the elf asked.

Rebecca waved him away. "All gone. I can hardly feel a thing."

"That is good to hear." T'ariq purred from across the table. "Especially because we will need to be on the road again soon."

"Maybe we can even get to Ivarstead before sundown." she agreed. But to her surprise, the others swapped glances of discomfort and didn't answer. Rebecca put down her bowl of porridge and wiped her mouth.

"Right, what is it?" she groaned.

Angmar flashed her a guilty look. "We had to make a deal, last night, with Annekke here," he jerked his head in the direction of the abrasive Nord woman who had so gently woken her just minutes ago. She was now pottering by the fireplace, listening in on their conversation. "To get you the bed." the Reachman added. Rebecca waited for him to continue, raising her eyebrows expectantly. But the men across from her avoided her gaze, each opening their mouths and then closing them, scratching their heads stupidly.

Rebecca gave an exasperated sigh and leaned over to look at their gracious host.

"Annekke?"

The woman banged her wooden ladle against the pot she had been stirring and walked across the room to slice some bread. "Sondas has a letter," she told her, without so much as glancing at Rebecca. Alarm bells went off in the younger girl's mind. _Sondas_ , she thought. _Why is that name familiar_?

"We need it delivered to Windhelm as soon as possible, and the last courier we sent just took our money and ran."

Rebecca rolled her eyes, the memory returning to her. This was the miner's cough quest, that would lead them to the White Phial in Windhelm for a cure. There was very little in that moment that she that she wanted to do _less_ than trawl through Eastmarch, to deliver a letter for some backwoods settlement. What's more, they didn't have the time. The phrase, 'Quest? But I'm already on a quest!' had never felt more apt.

"And I assume you lot have already agreed to this?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. They didn't answer, which she took to be a 'yes'.

"I am also travelling in that direction, so I could keep an eye on your wound if you do decide to go." Feraldur suggested diplomatically.

Rebecca threw her hands up in the air in defeat. "Then it's settled."

They popped into Goldenrock Mine to pick up the letter, which was addressed to Quintus Navale of the White Phial, as expected. Rebecca's irritable mood eased a little when the dark elf, Sondas, promised them a good handful of gold at the other end of its delivery. She cheered up even more when they were back on the road, ignoring signs for the Rift, and heading instead up north to Windhelm. It felt good to be moving again, unhindered by an injury and not such a hindrance to the rest of the group. Despite her increased mobility, however, the boys insisted that she sit up on the horse rather than walk beside them, after the slightest suggestion from Feraldur that the journey may affect her wound.

It wasn't long before the boys were asking countless piercing questions to the elf, some a little more sensitive and some…not so much. T'ariq politely asked where he was headed. The high elf admitted he was under strict directions not to reveal. Angmar inquired after how long he had been in Skyrim. But this, regretfully, he was also unable to answer. Felix even dared to ask if he was a Thalmor spy, at which point the Altmer laughed and revealed an amulet of Talos hanging around his golden neck, shocking them all into a stunned silence for a few minutes.

"By the Nine," Angmar grumbled. "You're more secretive than our princess up there."

Feraldur turned his attention to where Rebecca sat atop the carthorse.

"You're royalty?" he asked, his ivy eyes inquisitive. She shook her head, chortling.

"It's only a nickname." she told him. But though he had clearly finished sharing, Rebecca found that the Talos-worshipping elf had piqued her interest beyond her self-control. Though she asked him no more questions, her mind kept returning to that amulet, and the distant gleam in his eyes when he had spoken of the Summerset Isles the night before.


	12. Chapter 12

Rebecca enjoyed travelling through Eastmarch a lot more than she had expected, and certainly much more than she ever had in the game. The air sat heavy and humid atop the volcanic tundra, the land laden with clear blue springs and peppered with giants and mammoths that roamed the moorland in peace. They looked much more majestic, and far less gruesome, Rebecca thought, when observed from afar.

They made good time, reaching Kynesgrove a few hours past noon and moving on towards the frozen city, sitting beneath the mountains like a great grey shadow in the distance. The towers of the Palace of Kings and the rooves of every building were speckled with snow, despite the summer clime. In fact, the temperature had dropped as they ventured further north - Rebecca got the impression that the ground never truly thawed in this part of the country. She began to wish for some thicker armour to keep out the chill, or at least a set without holes burned through it.

They stopped off at the stables to leave their mare with Ulundil, who promised to look after her and the possessions strapped to their sides. The stable master was uncharacteristically polite for an Altmer, and even swapped a genial greeting with Feraldur.

"Safe travels," he bid them, as they turned to begin the long walk into the city. "Oh, and you might want to cover that up!" he called, pointing to Felix. The group stopped for a moment to follow his gaze, their eyes landing on the brazen black Imperial dragon tattooed on his right shoulder.

"Oh, come on." he complained, glaring at the grey gates ahead as Rebecca ducked back to the horse to get him a shirt.

The city guards looked visibly disturbed at the sight of the group walking towards them. Rebecca was disappointed to see them eyeing up T'ariq and Feraldur in particular. She had always defended the rebels and their cause, but her tolerance for racism was evaporating faster and faster the longer she spent travelling across this snowy wasteland. However, to her relief, the Stormcloaks made no active effort to deny them entry, and, reluctantly, opened the great brass gates for them.

The scene that greeted them was all too familiar – Rolff and Angernor Once-Honoured assaulting Suvaris Atheron, accusing the poor Dunmer of being an Imperial spy. But they didn't have time to stop and lend a hand. Rebecca hated this city enough without having to get into a fight with two racist Nords, who wouldn't take kindly to the foreigners she had brought into their midst.

It was deeply uncomfortable to walk through the Stone Quarter. Rebecca realised far too late that she had picked a company that had every right to hate the Stormcloaks, and were all too likely to be hated by them in turn. And, although she herself had nothing to fear from the rebels, walking through the heavy, hostile air that lay like a fog around the houses, she felt as though these people would be more than happy to find a reason. There didn't seem to be a smile to spare in this stony city.

They made straight for the White Phial, not pausing to potter and peruse the other stalls in the marketplace. Feraldur tagged along, deciding to drop in on Nurelion, the owner of the alchemy shop and apparently, an old friend. A bell rang above the doorway as the group stepped inside, brushing the snow off their travelling cloaks. Nurelion, the old high elf, lay quietly coughing on a bed in the corner. Feraldur disappeared into the other room, murmuring a quiet greeting to the dying Altmer. At the counter stood Quintus Navale, who looked up in surprise.

"Welcome to the White Phial!" He beamed as though he hadn't seen another human being all day. "What can I get you?"

"Actually, we have a message from Sondas, in Darkwater Crossing." Rebecca explained, sliding the parchment across the wood towards him.

"Ah! No doubt about the next batch of medicines for the miners," he nodded. Quintus reached into his pocket to drop a heavy coin purse on the counter top for her. "That's for your efforts in bringing this to me. If you see Sondas anytime soon, let him know I'll send them down as soon as possible."

Rebecca grinned as they walked out of the shop, enjoying the jingle of the coins by her side and immediately feeling it burn a hole in her pocket. She had a sudden urge to go and buy herself something, anything, as long as it was bought with this pile of coin. She saw T'ariq and Angmar split off to inspect the wares on sale at the market, leaving Feraldur behind to chat with Nurelion. Her eye fell on the blacksmith's forge, and she hurried over to inspect the smithy's wares before the others could stop her.

"Whatcha doing?" Felix asked, appearing at her shoulder.

Rebecca started, recovering herself before the boy had a chance to laugh. "Buying some armour." she said casually, struggling to pick up a set of steel plates that lay next to an anvil. Felix looked at her as though she'd gone mad.

"What did I say back in Whiterun?" he scoffed. "Bigger does not mean better. And it also does not mean made for midgets!"

Rebecca's eyes flashed as he ruffled her hair, his tone as patronising as it was smug. Her gaze landed instead on a simple steel set a little ways away, with patches of hide and fur that made her believe she could lift it with relative ease.

"Nope, that one's not any better." Felix tutted. But Rebecca's suspicions were correct. It was nowhere near as heavy as the full steel, and was short-sleeved, offering mobility and comfort.

"Hang on," Felix threw out a hand to stop her on the way to the blacksmith. "You're not using _our_ hard earned money for that hunk of metal?" he protested.

"I don't fancy being hit with another arrow anytime soon." she muttered. "And some of us like to wear clothes, Felix." She handed a spattering of septims to the Nord by the grindstone, grabbing a matching pair of steel cuffed boots by his side.

"This is wise," T'ariq had wandered over to them and noticed her new set of gear. To Rebecca's surprise, his eyes were flitting left and right nervously, and he looked on edge. "But this one thinks we have spent long enough in the city of stone."

"You're probably right." Rebecca admitted, the tinkle of a bell catching her ear as Feraldur stepped out of the White Phial, his face lined with worry. "Call Angmar over, and we'll get going."

But before they could make it more than a few yards, a powerful voice rung out across the marketplace and froze them in their tracks.

"By order of the High King, stop right there!"

The group turned slowly on their heels, each as uneasy as the next. All eyes were on them as Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak himself emerged from a wall of blue-robed city guards. He was clothed in the same dark furs as he had been on that fateful day in Helgen, his furrowed brow and hooked nose just as sharp, just as vengeful. But to Rebecca's relief, his deep blue eyes landed on her rather than the Khajiit, Imperial, Reachman, or Altmer by her sides. She was even more relieved to see a thin smile spread across his lips as he approached them.

"I thought I recognised you," His thunderous voice seemed to boom even at close range. "You were at Helgen. You jumped right off that cart - not letting an Imperial axeman decide your fate for you," he nodded, as if in approval. "Truly, you are a brave daughter of Skyrim."

The warrior slapped a meaty hand on her shoulder. Rebecca had to hold back a splutter of coughing as she responded, not daring to correct his assumption.

"Thank you Jarl Ulfric." she managed

"What brings you here? Have you come to exact your revenge?" he growled. Rebecca felt Felix shift awkwardly beside her, pulling his shirt tighter over his chest. She took a good long look at the Bear's dark eyes, feeling her stomach plummet at what she found. All she could see was a fiery hatred, a burning fury that cared for nothing but Imperial blood. In a game where progress was bought with digital lives, perhaps his violence made sense. But in the real world, Rebecca found it nothing but disturbing. And, standing in his city, seeing first hand the true victims of his war, she felt her heart shifting allegiance for the first time since ripping open the packaging on her Skyrim disc all those years ago.

She chose her next words carefully. "No, I'm afraid not. We were just here to deliver a message," she gestured to the troop behind her. "We're actually on our way to Ivarstead."

"Ivarstead, hm?" The mighty Jarl narrowed his eyes.

"Yes. In fact, we should really be leaving-"

"Nonsense!" Ulfric bellowed. A straw-coloured braid fell across his face. "You and your party will come and dine with us. The men will love to hear your tale of Helgen."

It sounded more like an order than an offer. Rebecca couldn't shake the feeling that she was in some bizarre battle of the wits with the man, fighting to escape. Something told her Ulfric knew more than he was letting on. That, despite all the etiquette and geniality, there was a hidden motive at work.

They weren't given an option to refuse, as the true son of Skyrim stalked away faster than they could follow, disappearing behind the armed entourage that escorted the group to the Palace of Kings. Once they had left, the marketplace hummed back to life, people going about their shopping as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

"Well this is bizarre." Angmar muttered under his breath, casting a wary eye at the guards around them. Rebecca nodded shortly, not daring to reply. She could hardly see over the heads of the Stormcloaks shepherding them, but she didn't have to, to know that the Windhelm locals were paying close attention to the outsiders.

They were hit by a wall of warmth as the giant brass doors were opened outwards, allowing them entry into the Palace and out of the bitterly cold wind. It couldn't have been late enough for dinner, even by a High King's hours, yet the long table inside was laden with wheels of cheese and stuffed pigs as big as Rebecca. In spite of the tension amongst the travelling crew, her eyes softened at the sight of the feast. She hadn't eaten anything better than soup and porridge in her whole time here, and suddenly she was presented with apple pies, boiled creme treats, and carrots as long as her arm - her fears melted away as her stomach took over.

The group were split up by the court steward, Jorleif, and to her shock, Rebecca was ushered to the end of the table, next to Ulfric's own seat at the head. She glanced furtively over at T'ariq, miles away at the other end, and watching her closely, his tail twitching.

The court all remained behind the benches until the Jarl took his seat, at which they were all permitted to settle down and begin eating. Rebecca was now deeply suspicious. Her companions had been spread out across the table, out of earshot and access, while she was stuck up at the top, opposite Galmar Stone-Fist, Stormcloak's right hand man, and next to the Jarl and his steward.

A servant came round offering mead and wine, both of which Rebecca accepted, filling two glasses to the brim as honey-roasted pork was passed down the table.

"So, deserter," Ulfric cleared his throat. "What is your name?"

Rebecca looked up from her goblet to find Jorleif, Galmar and Ulfric watching her with interest. Ulfric tapped a thick ringed finger on the table impatiently.

She swallowed her liquor, begging it to rush to her head. "Rebecca."

"Rebecca," Galmar repeated in a bark. "Is that a Breton name?"

She opened her mouth, but was saved from responding by the rebel himself. "Now, Galmar," he chuckled. "Let us not get into matters of heritage at the dinner table."

"Yes, what we really want to hear about is your escape from Helgen." Jorleif agreed jovially.

"Of course," Rebecca managed a weak smile. "Well, as you know, Jarl Ulfric, I escaped from the cart before the dragon arrived, so there isn't much to tell. I ran through the hills until I made it to Whiterun, found myself a few friends and the rest is history."

She tried to keep her eyes trained on her food. Ulfric's eyes were boring holes into the side of her head as she spoke, like a wolf eyeing up its prey before it pounced. It was as though he were waiting for her to give something away; but what could possibly interest him so much about the little girl from Helgen?

"Whiterun?" Ulfric sawed through a thick piece of ham on his plate, his eyes never leaving hers. "So then, you must have been there when the Greybeards called their summons?"

Rebecca looked up a little too fast and saw a gleam of triumph in Stormcloak's eye. _Of course_ , she thought. _He knows_. The more she thought about it, the more she understood, her brain whirring to life as it emerged from the stupor of fear. Who in Whiterun prided themselves on being avid supporters of the rebellion? News of the Dovahkiin made thane in the plains must have spread…and who better to spread it east than Clan Grey-Mane?

Rebecca made an effort to smile nonchalantly. "Yes, we were. Quite the event."

Ulfric smiled back, his warmth just as artificial as her own. Those cold eyes stared hungrily at her as she took another swig of mead from her goblet. "The dragonblood returns to Skyrim," he mused, his voice taking on a lofty quality that felt out of place with his hulking great body and war-weathered face. "I had half a mind to visit the Greybeards myself, and meet the new Tiber Septim!"

The nearest warriors burst into a chorus of hearty laughter. But Rebecca simply smirked into her plate of potatoes. Perhaps he didn't want her for a weapon in the war, after all. Maybe he was just jealous. Threatened, almost. _Well, having me to dine should certainly put his mind at ease,_ Rebecca thought. A little girl with torn armour, almost no combat training, and a rag-tag band of followers surely posed no real threat to the future High King of Skyrim and his stormborn army.

Ulfric beckoned over the server and had him refill their goblets. She cast a glance at her comrades over the wine jug, and felt a weight lift to see them all chatting and eating their fill, even if they did so with nervous laughter and anxious eyes.

"It will be interesting to see what stance this Dragonborn takes in the war," he added. "Since ultimately, their duty is to bring peace to the realm, they will have to take a side eventually." He glanced poignantly across at Rebecca. "Or perhaps they already have."

When Rebecca didn't respond, the conversation turned to lighter topics, with Jorleif regaling the dinner guests with tales of Ulfric's most famous battles in the Great War. The soldiers slapped their knees and howled as though they hadn't heard them twenty times before, whilst the newcomers nodded politely, wishing they were on the steep, cold road to Ivarstead rather than in this den of bears. Warm though it was, all felt they would be in much less danger out on the mountainside. Eventually, when most of the diners had grown loud with liquor, Ulfric stood up, his looming figure emanating power, to give a toast and end the banquet.

"Now it is on days such as this when we honour my father, Hoag, may he fight on in Sovngard." The men echoed his words, raising their glasses. "Were it not for the Imperial scourge on our land, I may have shared his last moments. But as it was not so, we must remember him instead in the songs we sing and the ale we drink." He paused, for a moment, lost in his memories. The shadow of sorrow flickered across his face. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that steely glow of determination in his gaze.

"To the Great Bear of Eastmarch!" he roared.

"To the Great Bear of Eastmarch!"

The table drank deeply and tottered off in little groups as the stars began to shine and the bards appeared at the sides of the hall, plucking gentle notes on their lutes and humming old Nordic ballads whose lyrics were lost to the ages.

After a time, Ulfric pushed his wooden chair back and stood from the table, emptying his goblet with a deep, long sigh. "Have you bought lodgings anywhere?" he rumbled. Rebecca shook her head, too tired to argue as she predicted his next suggestion.

"Then I'll have some rooms made up for you in the southern wing. Jorleif will see you to them." He set his empty goblet down with a bang, and stomped off behind an unseen doorway, followed by a guard. As if on cue, the other boys got up and walked stiffly over to join Rebecca, exchanging glances of anticipation. Jorleif, after wiping his mouth with his sleeve, stood with a burp and lead them off to the wing, barely making it up the stairs himself as they climbed to a set of rooms with two beds each.

"Oh dear," Felix giggled. He cast his sultry gaze on Rebecca. "We'll have to share a bed."

She glared at him, wafting away the stench of wine on his breath. "Not on your life."

Angmar volunteered to sleep on a roll mat at in the same room as Feraldur and Felix, who was still cackling like a lunatic long after they had blown out the candles. That left T'ariq and Rebecca to share the other room, both secretly delighted at the prospect of soft downy pillows and a proper mattress for the night.

"What did he want, the Bear King?" T'ariq rasped, facing away so that Rebecca could change into her tunic and get under the covers.

"He knows I'm the Dovahkiin." she told him, rolling over to face the wall. Even so, she could hear the frown in his voiced when he answered. "Did you tell him this?"

"No, but he rubbed it in my face all evening. Trying to get me to join the war, I guess."

The Khajiit sighed and pulled off his boots, placing his weapons on a table nearby. He was silent for a moment as he climbed into bed.

"The Nords stroked my fur all night." he growled.

Rebecca couldn't help a giggle, turning in bed to see his orange eyes glowing with humour.

"Actually..." he paused. "This one rather liked it."


	13. Chapter 13

Rebecca turned over in bed, surprised to find a soft fluffy pillow beneath her cheek rather than the itchy feel of straw. She was almost worried enough to open her eyes, before she remembered that her band of merry men had crashed at the Palace of Kings for the night. Rolling over in her state of half-sleep, Rebecca revelled in the comfort of a mattress, and the warmth afforded her by the beautifully thick duvet.

But strangely, the sounds that hummed about her ears were not the scraping of weapons against stone or the whistling of wind through the castle. In fact, it was eerily quiet. The only noises she picked up were that of singing birds and the rustling leaves. Frowning, she opened an eye.

Rebecca's mouth practically unhinged at the jaw; she was not in the Palace of Kings, but in her bedroom. And it was exactly the same – the walls were painted a delicate sky blue, the window had been left ajar and outside the sun shone brightly. It was a typical August morning. She must have finally woken up! But strangely, Rebecca found herself saddened by the discovery. She hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye to T'ariq, or Felix, or the rest of her friends.

"Morning, Becky."

Rebecca's mother was standing at the door, leaning against the frame.

"Mum!" Rebecca beamed and shot out of bed, rushing into her mother's outstretched arms. Her mother laughed softly and stroked her daughter's hair. "You've slept well into the afternoon," she told her. "You should really learn to set an alarm."

Rebecca blinked and pulled away from the embrace. "But I was gone…I wasn't sleeping, I was in Skyrim!"

Her mother's warmth evaporated and she rolled her eyes. "Again, with these silly games, Becky." Her voice sounded tired as she moved to perch on the side of the bed. Rebecca looked down at the pyjamas on her legs, her eyebrows knitting together.

"I don't understand," she murmured.

The older woman shook her head. "They're frying your brain sweetie. You're wasting your life on these things, cooped up all day and playing make-believe like a little girl!" she cried, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

"I am not wasting my life!" Rebecca retorted, glancing at her guiltily. "I don't play them all day, ok? I get two holidays a year, excuse me if I want to relax a little..."

Her mother raised an eyebrow in a manner that felt sickeningly familiar to her daughter. "Oh, is that what you call it? Relaxing?"

"Yes, it is!" Rebecca stomped to the side of her room and snatched a hoodie from the pile of clothes on her rocking chair. "And frankly, I'm getting tired of you trying to control my life. I'm not a child, Mum!" She reached out for the window handle and closed it with a snap. Her mother pursed her lips.

"No, you're not a child." she sighed. "You're a woman. But you'd never know it from the way you act," she scolded. Rebecca groaned as she went about picking her books up from the floor.

"No boyfriend, no job!"

She started to shelve the books, just so that she didn't have to look at the witch by her bed.

"You know, someday, Rebecca, you're going to have to get a semblance of a life."

Her daughter whipped around, her eyes ablaze.

"I have a life, mother – in fact, I have multiple! That's why I play games, not to upset your perfect idea of femininity, but to dream!" she yelled. "It might not be one that you recognise, but it's a life." Her mother had visibly recoiled, and was refusing to look at her, playing instead with the hem of her skirt. She didn't respond, only tutted.

"I don't want an office job, and a perfect husband, and a pension," Rebecca sniffed, lowering her voice. "And I'm sorry if it's disappointing for you to hear that your daughter has the ability to think an _inch_ beyond the world you made for her. But that's how it is."

Rebecca's mother looked pointedly out of the window as a single tear rolled down her daughter's cheek. After a moment she turned back to the girl, who was shaking in front of her. "It is disappointing, dear." she sighed. There was no sympathy in her eyes, only a deep sense of regret that bit Rebecca to the core. She wiped angrily at the tears in her eyes, biting her lip to keep from sobbing. "I'm sorry." Her voice wobbled as she spoke. She slipped her feet into a pair of sliders and raced out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Where are you going?" her mother's shrill voice came flying down the stairs as she descended.

"To go play some fucking video games!"

When Rebecca awoke for real, it was to a slightly thinner pillow, damp with tears. She sniffed and sat up, relieved to find a stone wall by her side and a sleeping Khajiit across the room. Deciding she needed some fresh air, Rebecca rolled out of bed and strapped on her new armour. As she slipped a foot in each boot, the fur warming her toes, she took a glance out of the warped glass window to see the sun just beginning to rise behind the mountains.

The dark hallways were deserted, the torches burnt to the wick after last night's celebrations. She made her way back down the stairs, exhaling as she peered around the corner to find the main hall equally empty.

The courtyard of the palace was freezing, the sky beginning to pale as dawn approached above them. The heavy grey walls made her feel trapped, and did nothing to preserve the firepits struggling in the icy wind. A lone figure stood huddling by the flames, his hands outstretched and cloaked in a long green robe. As she moved closer, Rebecca recognised the loner as Feraldur, shivering against the Nordic chill. He looked up and managed a smile as she approached.

"Good morning."

"Oh, I'm not sure you can call it that." the elf chuckled, his teeth chattering. Rebecca drew near to the heat, wishing she had brought her travelling cloak out with her – the new set of armour was short-sleeved, and the fur wasn't keeping her as toasty as she'd have liked. Instead, she folded her arms and watched the citizens of Windhelm stirring in the Stone Quarter.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked him. Ferladur shook his head.

"This place always puts me a little on edge."

Curiously, he seemed to be referring to the Palace rather than the city itself, his bright eyes dulled a little in the dark of the morning.

"You've stayed here before?" she dared.

The Altmer seemed distracted. "Pardon? Oh, yes. A long time ago."

Rebecca watched him roll down his sleeves as he reached into the satchel by his side. He pulled out a small herb, one that Rebecca recognised as Frost Mirriam. He picked a leaf and popped it in his mouth.

He offered one to Rebecca. "A little frost resistance." he explained. She smiled, taking the plant and chewing it slowly. It tasted like peppermint, and sent a trickle of warmth through her joints, warming the tips of her fingers and the end of her nose. It had almost the same effect as a sip of whisky, though Rebecca would much have preferred the latter.

"Where will you go after this?" she asked him. Feraldur glanced at her apologetically before she realised her mistake.

"Classified, got it." Despite his secrecy, Rebecca was sure there was only one place he could really be headed, if he'd stopped off in Windhelm. The college would be waiting with baited breath for his arrival.

"Is it this cold where you're from?" Feraldur asked. Rebecca returned his sheepish expression, sucking air in though her teeth. "Ooh, I'm sorry," she grinned. "That is also classified."

The elf nodded, as if conceding defeat. The silence hung heavy between the two of them before Rebecca gave in. "But yes. Pretty close, at least."

He looked up at her gratefully, his eyes catching the light as the first rays of the sun peeped over the walls of the city and dappled the ground with patches of warmth.

"Well, I'd better head inside," Rebecca said, after a pause. "The others will be waking soon."

Feraldur waved her off as she returned to the warmth of the palace and found the boys already sat down to eat. She had to repress a childish squeal of delight at the sight of Felix with his head in his hands, groaning against the table.

"Good morning, sunshine!" she called, a little louder than necessary. It had only been a couple of days ago that he had poked fun at her for being so horribly hungover, and like a child, she couldn't pass up the chance to exact revenge. He jerked up, squinting against the light as the doors closed behind her. Angmar grinned as she deliberately banged a tankard down by his ears, lowering herself into the spot beside him on the bench. Felix muttered something about mercy before covering his head with the hood of his cloak.

"What's wrong?" she pouted. "Had a little too much to drink last night?"

Felix glared at the smugness lined in every crack of her face, refusing to answer and instead simply turning away and resting his blonde mop on the table top.

"That's enough, little kit." T'ariq shot her a warning glare as Rebecca raised her mug to pour milk over his head, egged on by Angmar's rumbling laughter. Reluctantly, she drank from it instead, grabbing a slice of bread from across the table and slathering it with butter.

"This one does not think we should risk too much longer in this place," T'ariq added. Despite the luxury of the palace life, Rebecca found herself inclined to agree. "We should leave soon," she bit into her bread, enjoying the feel of a crust that wasn't stale for once. "Preferrably before the Bear wakes up."

After a hurried breakfast, the gang managed to pack up and rush out before anyone official could see them, scrawling a note thanking Ulfric for his hospitality and leaving it with a guard. It was no surprise that while the city was now bustling as the day began, the palace residents were still fast asleep in their goose feather beds. However, the company of the Dragonborn were unable to find Feraldur anywhere in the city, and were forced to leave without saying a proper farewell.

"Well he was certainly the politest mer I've ever met," Angmar chuckled as they walked back to the stables. "If also the strangest."

"T'ariq agrees," the Khajiit purred in amusement. "A mer that worships man…"

"Not as strange as the Jarl," Felix muttered, his cloak drawn tight around his chest as he cast a scathing glare at the nearest Stormcloak soldier. "These Nords are downright crazy."

"One of the guards told me he forced all the Argonians into one house, by the docks. Said it like they were proud of him." Angmar told them, shaking his head in disgust.

"That's literally ghettoization," Rebecca spat. "That's what Hitler did."

Felix cocked his head to the side. "Who's Hitler?"

"Oh god- um, never mind."

The path up to Ivarstead was the same as it had always been – cold, steep, and full of bears. While this hadn't been much more than an irritating feature of the game in Rebecca's world, in reality, it made for a miserable journey that left her longing for the twenty-first century. She swore to never again complain about the advances of technology as T'ariq sent an ice spike through the heart of their third bear since Windhelm. The going was rough, and they travelled much slower than intended, all of them losing their breath in the thin air. They spent the day climbing, but with little reward for their efforts. Unfortunately, they took so long that it began to look as though they wouldn't make Ivarstead before sunset, making Rebecca wish, not for the first time, that they had never taken the detour to Windhelm in the first place. The higher they got, the more the wind whipped at their frostbitten fingers, the temperature plummeting once the sun dipped behind the mountains. Rebecca could only shiver at the thought of the 7,000 steps up to High Hrothgar.

They couldn't have been far from Ivarstead when the last light faded from the purple sky, but nonetheless the group decided it would be better for them all just to rest for the night. So they took up refuge under a rocky shelf a little ways from the road, pitching their tents in a circle and laying out bedrolls on the springy ground. At least the air up here was clearer, albeit thin, and a little less humid than the tundra of Eastmarch, Rebecca thought. Felix quickly gathered a cluster of dry logs and twigs from the clearing nearby, which T'ariq turned into a crackling fire with a snap of his fingers.

"Hey, I'm going to go hunting," Angmar nudged Rebecca with an armoured boot. "You want to come learn?" he asked. She nodded reluctantly, getting to her feet with a groan as the cold began to set into her joints. She grabbed her bow and arrows, leaving her heavier armour and boots back at the campside with T'ariq and Felix as the pair ran off into the forest.

"Did you hunt much game back at home?" Angmar asked, pulling his own hunting bow off his back as they weaved quietly between the trees.

"Nope," she chuckled. "No one really hunts where I'm from."

Angmar cast her a suspicious glance from the side of his eye. "You know, you really don't do a good job of convincing us that you're not actually royalty."

Rebecca laughed, seeing the twinkle of humour in his icey eyes. They were silent for a moment as Angmar scanned the undergrowth for signs of movement. A rustling tree here, the shiver of a bush there all caught Rebecca's attention, but seemed not to distract the Reachman. He was alert to the heavier sounds, the breaking of twigs and the subtle vibrations in the forest floor that signalled the approach of another mammal. After a minute or two of waiting patiently behind a birch tree, Angmar's eyes locked onto something to their right, unseen in the branches.

He placed a hand on her arm without breaking eye contact with whatever it was he had spotted. "You see that?" he whispered.

Rebecca glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "No."

"Look, up there." Angmar raised his hand, pointing up to bows of an old oak, a little ways in front of them. Rebecca followed his finger and gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. He was right – something had made a branch shiver, too much for just the breeze. Even though she couldn't see it, she knew it was there.

"You have to use your instinct in the dark." he told her, slotting an arrow into his quiver and aiming it up at the wobbling branch. "If it's a bird, you'll only get one shot before they fly away." He was barely sparing any breath to teach her, focused almost entirely on the prey in front of him. Exhaling slowly, Angmar loosed his arrow, his bow snapping taut as something squeaked and fell with a heavy thud on the ground in front of them.

Rebecca stood, following the man into the grass to retrieve their kill. "That was great!" she grinned as they found themselves looming over a large kestrel, struggling on the ground in front of them. Angmar held it down with his iron grip and broke the beast's neck with one sharp click, silencing it in an instant. He tied the bird's legs together with a thin piece of twine, stringing it onto his belt for safekeeping.

"Now you go off and bag some game. You know your way back to camp?" he asked. Rebecca nodded, and he vanished into the brush, the tip of his bow disappearing behind the wide berth of an oak. Rebecca headed further into the forest, treading as lightly as she could, thankful for once of her light armour and shorter stature. Once left alone, the thoughts she had been suppressing all day came creeping back to her, the shrill voice of her mother still ringing in her ears. Despite the friends she'd made, it had still come as a shock that her return to real life had been an unwelcome one, both to her own mother and to herself. Of course, she would still rather return than be stuck in Skyrim forever. But was she ready to go home?

Rebecca stopped dead in her tracks, forcing herself to clear her head at the sound of rustling nearby, and dropped down into a crouch to try and pick up the give-away movements the way that Angmar had.

Her eyes locked onto the head of a fat old hare, poking through a patch of flowers barely feet from where she lay in wait. Rebecca practically stopped breathing altogether as she lined up her sights, watching the hare prick his ears and tap a fluffy foot against the ground. A second later he was struck down, falling backwards and landing in the daffodils behind him with a soft thud. Rebecca hauled the hare back to camp, leaving her arrow stuck where it had landed, in its little skull, partly out of pride and partly because she couldn't imagine anything worse than getting hare-brain on her hands.

Angmar was already back with a small goat, and had begun to carve it up by the time she arrived, dragging her hare in the dust.

"Well done, princess!" he laughed, applauding her as she took a dramatic bow and hoisted her hare onto their makeshift spit roast. Within minutes they had all three animals turning over the fire, and a nice stack of branches to keep the logs burning.

"Not bad for the Dovahkiin." Felix smirked, twisting a goat leg around as the flames licked at the sizzling meat.

"Hey," Rebecca waggled a finger in his face, stepping over his legs to get to her tent. "Today an old rabbit, tomorrow the World Eater."

The others fell broke into laughter, at her or with her, she wasn't sure. Either way, she headed into her tent to change out of her steel armour, and into the softer tunic that she'd taken to sleeping in. By the time she had re-emerged, the meat was cooked and the lads were already tucking into their mini feast, throwing in the sweet rolls and fruit they had bought in Whiterun a few days before as a kind of desert. The night was spent telling jokes, quipping different guesses about Feraldur's past, and eating their fill. Eventually Rebecca fell asleep leaning on T'ariq's legs beside the fire, her heart and belly full, surrounded by her company of heroes as all dreams of the night before faded to the back of her mind.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN** : Hullo - hope everyone is still enjoying the story! Your feedback, while very meticulous, has been great, so I wanted to say thanks for the response x

Also, I'm slowing the updates to every two days, because finding the time to write 3,000 words a day between work has been hard (that's also why some of the chapters have been a little shorter). Anyway, thanks again for reading :)

When they set off the next morning, the sun was shining and the weather had improved significantly. The sky was a clear, bright blue that lifted their spirits and lightened their step as they continued down the main road toward Ivarstead. They were now striding along the edge of the Rift, one of the warmer parts of Southern Skyrim, and definitely one of the most aesthetically pleasing. Rebecca looked up at the golden leaves clothing thin birches and tall pines that shone brightly beside rushing streams and bubbling brooks.

They hadn't been walking long before a young man with brown hair and a satchel strapped across his chest came running up to them.

"Are any of you named Rebecca?" he panted.

Rebecca exchanged a suspicious glance with T'ariq beside her. "That would be me. Who's asking?" she answered.

"Got something I'm supposed to deliver." The man reached into the leather satchel and pulled out a parchment envelope. "Your eyes only."

The group edged to the side of the road as the courier ran past them and down the hill. The envelope was stuck with a red wax seal, bearing the College of Winterhold's crest. Rebecca allowed herself a smug smile. She broke the seal and unfolded the note, taking in the swirling, ivy green border, and delicate, slanted scrawl beneath it.

 _Dear Rebecca & company,_

 _My sincerest apologies for being unable to bid you farewell before leaving Windhelm. Some urgent business called me away and regrettably, there was little time to stop off for formalities._ _However, I wanted to thank you for being so welcoming to me during our brief time together. I truly hope that we meet again some day._

 _Warmest regards,_

 _Feraldur_

 _P.S Rebecca;_ _If your wound reopens, please dress it with a poultice of wheat and blisterwort (if you are unable to find a healer)._

"And so, the mystery continues." T'ariq chuckled as Rebecca folded the note away and tucked it under the strap of her belt.

"I'd wager 'Feraldur' wasn't even his real name." Angmar grunted as they made another turning across the way from an ominous looking cave. At Rebecca's suggestion, they skirted the path and went through the woods before coming up on Sarethi Farm, to avoid the bandits to the south. The roaring of water and the rustling of the wind between the leaves heralded their approach as the trees cleared and the group found themselves facing the bridge before Ivarstead. The sunlight shone from their armour as they strolled into the sleepy town, each of them subtly enjoying the turning of heads at their arrival. The locals all stopped to stare at the newcomers, marvelling at their weapons and the heavy sacks they carried, laden with treasure and gems.

They headed straight for Vilemyr Inn, receiving much the same reaction from the villagers inside, gathered in little groups by the fireside or along the tables at the walls. Having skipped breakfast, the company decided to pay for a room to dump their belongings in, and sit down for some oats and bread. As usual, Angmar started off his day with a full tankard of mead.

"What a boring town." he remarked, casting a disappointed glance around the inn.

Rebecca's eyes landed on Lynly Star-Sung, who was playing a lute by the bar. "Don't be fooled," she warned the Reachman. "Ivarstead has its secrets, like any other town."

Bassianus Axius, the red-headed Nord, approached the table holding three jugs of milk. He glanced warily at Rebecca, who raised an eyebrow.

"You don't look like pilgrims," Bassianus sneered, taking in their spiked shoulder pads and horned helms. "Why bother visiting Ivarstead?"

Rebecca gave him a knowing smile as she patted a couple of gold septims into his hands for the drinks. "Between you and I, Bassianus, you should talk to Fastred's mother," she winked. "She supports your love, you know." Her smile widened at the glimmer of shock that appeared in the man's eyes. He wriggled out of her grasp and stepped back in fear. "How could you possibly-" he spluttered.

Rebecca pressed a finger to her lips, and looked pointedly over at the door, where Fastred's mother, Boti had just emerged. Bassianus stumbled away, still wide-eyed and clearly shaken. She gave a contented sigh and tucked into her porridge, ignoring the stern glare that T'ariq was shooting at her.

"What?" she asked, finally glancing up at her protector. "I'm just doing Mara's will."

T'ariq shook his head. "You should not scare people so. Besides the fear you create, you draw much attention to yourself."

Rebecca shrugged, watching as the Nord approached Boti with a nervous glance back at her table. Scared or otherwise, it was still a good deed. And who knew? Maybe the Lady of Love herself was watching from up above with a smile on her heavenly face.

After a warm and hearty meal, they paid Wilhelm to keep an eye on their kit and stepped out into the bracing air. Rebecca would normally have been worried about such a pilgrimage as that up the 7,000 steps, and would likely never have attempted it in her old life. But since landing in Skyrim she had become much fitter – she had found a new strength in herself, and was able to carry more and journey farther with each day that passed. They were about to cross the bridge out of town when Rebecca noticed a wood elf and a familiar face having a conversation by a stone wall. She rushed over to the Nord, beaming up at him.

"Klimmek?" she asked. The man turned around and frowned down at her. "Yes?"

"I was told you needed a hand taking supplies to the Greybeards," she explained. "We're heading that way if you'd like us to help you out?" Rebecca suggested, gesturing to the trio of warriors behind her, waiting awkwardly beside the path. Klimmek looked from her to them and back again.

"Um," he reached to scratch the back of his head. "Ah, ok…if you could." He reached beneath him and handed her a great sack of supplies, bursting with apples and preserved meats.

"What was that all about?" Felix asked her as they crossed the river. Klimmek was still staring after them, as though wondering if he had just made a huge mistake.

Rebecca waved a hand dismissively. "He'll pay us when we get back." She slung the sack over her shoulder and walked on ahead. Angmar was leading the way, and had stopped in front of the first Wayshrine.

"Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus," he read, one finger tracing the engraving within the shrine. "Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs; for the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land."

Rebecca spotted a purple mountain flower lying in the offering bowl beneath the plaque, and stooped to pick it up, remembering Feraldur's little trick from the day before. She bit off the head of the plant and felt the familiar warmth seeping through her bones as they began the ascent up the snow-covered steps.

"The Voice?" Felix echoed Angmar's recital. "Is that the shouting that you do?"

Rebecca nodded. "The thu'um. The Greybeards are masters of the Voice. That's why we're visiting – I need to learn from them."

Angmar and T'ariq took up the head of the group, weapons drawn in case they stumbled upon a pack of wolves, or a bear's den. They had only climbed the first set of stairs and already, Rebecca was beginning to tire, glad of the mountain flower in her hand as the wind picked up in the trees around them.

Felix nodded slowly. "So only the dragonborn can visit them?"

"No, I don't think so," Rebecca answered. "Although, you might not be allowed in, I don't know. I've never tried to enter with three companions before." She saw Felix's brow furrow in confusion and cursed herself for thinking aloud. "Anyway," she added hurriedly. "They must let in others because they've taught those without the dragon blood before. Including our good friend Ulfric."

Felix looked up from the snowy ground in surprise. "Ulfric can shout?"

"Yup," she sighed. "That's how he killed High King Torygg."

Now Felix's brown eyes shone with shock. "The High King is dead?"

"Jesus," Rebecca laughed. "You never cease to amaze me, Felix."

Felix grinned stupidly, as though proud of himself, and skipped a step. "I don't aim to."

They stopped at every wayshrine, greeting the hunters they found on the way up and cutting down ice wolves left and right. The steps flattened out just as Rebecca felt she was about to collapse from exhaustion, wishing fiercely for a semblance of frost protection as the effects of the purple flower wore off. The snow began to fall in thick clumps around them, their footsteps muffled as they crunched through the soft piles of powder. When the path bent around a hidden corner, Rebecca stopped her companions in their tracks and gestured to the shelter of a rocky ledge where they could rest.

"There's a f-frost troll up ahead." Her teeth were chattering, and her breath came out in white puffs. T'ariq nodded, gesturing for Angmar and Felix to follow him. Despite the warmth afforded him by his dark fur, T'ariq seemed to be feeling the cold just as much as the rest of them, and had stopped talking about a thousand steps back. Rebecca waited in the dark of the overhang as the clashing of steel and the roar of a troll sounded from around the bend. She wondered if perhaps she should have gone ahead to help them, but, considering her recent experience with fire and her injury, she had decided against the idea before they even stopped. Regardless, she wished that she could at least be moving around out there with her friends, if for no reason other than that it might keep her blood flowing.

They returned after a few minutes, their breath heavy and their weapons stained with blood. T'ariq looked a little more chipper for the flames dancing between his fingers as Rebecca stood to continue the path. She knew there were no more dangers ahead, and was even allowing herself to get excited, despite the cold, at the prospect of meeting the Greybeards and stepping inside High Hrothgar for the first time.

The last stretch of steps lay ahead of them, a white trail that ended at the twin staircases leading into the legendary fortress, black and stoic against the snow and the howling wind. They left Klimmek's sack in a grand old chest at the base of the entrance before proceeding up to the great iron doors.

"Now when we get in, you have to let me do the talking," Rebecca warned the men, her cheeks flushed pink in the cold. "The Greybeards are a little jumpy."

The inside of High Hrothgar was, to Rebecca's dismay, only a tad warmer than the mountainside. The fires that were lit within did little to dispel the cold air within those stone walls, and the floor lay naked, without a blanket or rug in sight. _How on earth can they live here_? Rebecca thought. _Alone, cold, and old – sounds like the start of a really bad dating show._

As they stepped inside the entrance hall, shaking off the snowflakes in their hair and shoulders, they were greeted by the dark cloaks of the Greybeards shuffling toward them and gathering in a huddle. She recognised Arngeir at the head, his hands hidden in the folds of his cloak and his long, white beard tied in a knot at the base of his neck.

"Greetings, Masters" Rebecca bowed in respect, gesturing for the others to do the same. "I have come to answer your summons."

Arngeir did not bow back. In fact, none of the Greybeards did. Instead, they, formed a tight circle around the visitors and glared at them menacingly.

"So. You claim the mantle of Dovahkiin, do you, warrior?" Arngeir asked, his voice rumbling like thunder. Rebecca nodded, her eyes shifting anxiously between each of the cloaked men.

"I do not know what bounty you had hoped to win by travelling this far on a lie," Arngeir sighed. "But let me assure you, it is an ill-informed con that you have put together."

Rebecca's mouth dropped open. "I'm not lying!" she cried. The Greybeards had stepped closer threateningly. She heard the scrape of metal as Felix drew his swords behind her.

"You bring violence and falsity to a place whose very foundations were built in the name of peace and truth." Arngeir's blue eyes were icy now, a cold pit of fury that seemed to burn through Rebecca as she struggled to form an answer.

"But she is the Dragonborn!" Angmar protested, one hand on the hilt of his greatsword. Felix and T'ariq showed equal resistance.

"I've seen her take a dragon's soul!"

"This one is able to shout."

Arngeir raised a hand to silence them, and the Greybeards took another step forward, forcing the group back towards the door. "We must ask you to leave quietly, or else we will make you." he told them, placing his feet shoulder-width apart on the floor. The other masters of the voice copied him, lowering their hands to their sides as they prepared to shout. But their stance only lit a lightbulb in Rebecca's mind. With a deep breath, she drew all the air and tension around them within her, concentrating all her energy on a single thought.

" **FUS**!"

With a shout that ripped through the air like lightning, Rebecca copied their pose and released her Voice on Arngeir. The older man stumbled back a pace, his eyes wild with a combination of anger and bewilderment.

"This…how did you learn to do this?" he growled. Two of the monks ran back to help him up to his feet. Rebecca groaned in exasperation.

"I didn't learn!" she yelled, her temper getting the best of her. "I just knew it. We slayed Mirmulnir down in Whiterun and I stole it's soul – that's when we heard your summons, and came running here!"

The Greybeards had gathered around Arngeir and were watching her closely. She caught a glance of confusion shared between their hooded eyes. After a moment of silence they stepped back, allowing the warriors back into the room and out of the draught blowing in from the door.

"Deepest apologies, Dragonborn," Arngeir and the others fell into a deep bow, placing their hands back into the sleeves of their robes. When he stood again, the speaker's eyes were awash with a spark of dark concern. "Forgive us for not recognising you sooner."

Felix sheathed his swords and Angmar breathed an audible sigh of relief. Rebecca folded her arms. "Apology accepted." she mumbled.

"Under normal circumstances, we would have welcomed you humbly upon your arrival," Arngeir explained, his eyes flitting between the newcomers fearfully. "Were it not for the one who came before you."

Rebecca frowned. "Who came before us?"

Arngeir paused, not meeting her eyes. "The other Dragonborn."


	15. Chapter 15

Rebecca stood, stunned into silence and unable to move. Her crew were in much the same state, though largely because they were now well out of their depth when it came to Nordic legend.

"I'm sorry," Rebecca blinked. "Did you just say, 'other Dragonborn'?"

Arngeir nodded sheepishly. "Perhaps one day past, a woman with the Voice arrived at High Hrothgar and answered our summons." He spoke slowly, as though still working through the details himself.

Rebecca was shaking her head fervently. "Not possible."

Arngeir was searching for something to say, looking down at her apologetically. The other Greybeards dispersed, disappearing into different corridors and down dark hallways.

"She had the gift, much as strong as yourself," Arngeir murmured. It sounded as though he were speaking to himself rather than the dumbfounded visitors at his doorstep. "I am sure we were not mistaken…but yet…"

It felt to Rebecca as though the world had been turned on its head. As far as she knew, it was utterly inconceivable to have two Dovahkiin alive at the same time. And Arngeir had described a woman, so there was no chance that Miraak had somehow made his way off Solstheim. Rebecca's head spun as the dragonpriest of old popped into her head. She hadn't yet thought about the DLCs…should she be expecting brainwashed Dunmer to attack her on the roads? Did Solstheim even exist in this Skyrim?

"I need to sit down." Rebecca muttered, reaching for a ledge nearby before she fell. Felix hurried to her side, sitting next to her on their stone perch, unsure of what he could say that would comfort her. Meanwhile, Arngeir continued to babble away, walking in circles to their right. "This cannot be…perhaps she was a con? After all, in the history of the dragon blood, an Altmer has never been recorded as Dragonborn…"

Rebecca shot to her feet.

"What did you say?" She whirled around to face the Greybeard, her voice echoing off the stone walls. Arngeir looked lost. "An Altmer has not ever been recorded as-"

"She was a High Elf?" Rebecca snapped, her eyes ablaze. "Green eyes?"

Arngeir nodded slowly.

"And a scar, on her left cheek?"

Arngeir's shocked expression was all the answer she needed. Of course. How could she not have guessed it? Why didn't she pay attention all those days ago on that stupid cart to Helgen?

"Rebecca?"

T'ariq appeared at her side, placing a furry hand on her shoulder. But she could hardly register his touch; her body felt numb while her mind was racing, too fast to pay attention to anything but the thoughts in her head, crashing down on her like a waterfall.

"Dragonborn?" The other Greybeards had returned and were lined up in front of her. It may have been Rebecca's imagination, but she thought they all looked distinctly guilty, despite their stony expressions. "We would gift you three words of power, granted you do not already know of them."

Master Wulfgar, Einarth and Borri stood in a circle and whispered to the stone in front of them. Their very murmurs seemed to shake the fortress, and engraved the floor with glowing orange inscriptions. Rebecca absorbed their knowledge, the strange letters burning into her eyelids as her mind was momentarily carried away from the gold-skinned Altmer in her memories. She found that she could read each one; **Ro** , **Dah** , and **Wuld**.

But instead of being filled with strength and willpower, as she had been in the Barrow, Rebecca was filled with a heavy sense of dread. It weighed her down like a heavy ball of lead in the pit of her stomach, as the familiar _whoosh_ of wind rushing sounded in her ears. The Greybeards stepped back, allowing the glowing characters of the dovah tongue to fade beneath them. High Hrothgar was silent once more, but for the howling of the wind outside.

Arngeir raised his hooded head to look at Rebecca. She met his gaze, seeing the fear hidden in those icy eyes and finding that it only fuelled her with anger.

"Cheers." she spat. Without another word, she turned on her heels, the leaden ball melting into a tingle of energy that dripped down to her toes. It urged her to run, and so she stormed to the door, shoving it open with all of her might as the wind drowned out the calls of her comrades behind. It bit at her nose and finger tips and froze the tears that formed at the corners of her eyes. But it wasn't sorrow that drove her down the mountain side.

The gale carried the voices of her friends to her, tinged with panic and urgency.

" **Wuld**!" Rebecca gasped. A cyclone consumed her, blurring the trees and rocks by the path as she was carried down the mountain. She broke into a sprint, her travelling cloak whipping out behind her as the snow turned to hail that stung her frozen face. Rebecca continued to shout whenever she found the energy, until eventually she stumbled back into Vilemyr Inn, ignoring the silence that fell upon the villagers at the appearance of her frostbitten cloak and wild hair. She stomped off to her room and collapsed on the nearest bed, throwing off her armour until she was under the bearskin cover and her heart had stopped pounding in her throat.

Hours later the door was slammed open to reveal Felix, bare chest heaving as he whipped off his cloak and fixed her with a furious glare.

"What-" he gasped. "were you thinking?"

Rebecca couldn't face him, still seething, lost and confused all at once. So instead, she directed her anger at the wall in front of her, pulling the covers up and over her head.

"Go." Rebecca heard T'ariq's tired rasp, muffled through the pelt above her ears. "Leave us for a while."

She heard Felix scoff in outrage, but nonetheless he must have complied, as the sound of his heavy boots clapped against the stone. Rebecca peeked an eye out as T'ariq closed the door and sat on another bed, pulling off his leather boots with an exhausted sigh as he slumped against the wall. "T'ariq will look away, if you will put some clothes on and speak to him."

Begrudgingly, Rebecca sat up in bed, glaring at the back of T'ariq's head. Covering her chest, she grabbed a tunic from her sack to wriggle on beneath the bearskin.

"I'm decent." she grumbled, folding her arms like a child in a huff. The Khajiit turned to face her, but the irritation that she had expected was not present in his eyes. Nor were his whiskers twitching from frustration, nor his tail lashing in fury. Instead, his amber eyes glowed soft with concern as he took in the little girl, her stubborn resolve crumbling front of him.

"Can I come over?" she asked, her voice breaking a little. T'ariq smiled weakly, patting the space next to him on the bed as she bit her lip to keep the tears at bay. Rebecca leaned her head on his shoulder, surprised to find that he did not recoil, but instead moved a paw to stroke her hair. A single tear ran down, filling her mouth with the taste of salt as it fell to the corner of her lips.

"Now," T'ariq purred softly against her head. "Tell me. Who is this elf?"

Rebecca wiped the tear away, regaining control of her emotions with a sniff.

"Do you remember the day we met?" she lifted her head and saw the Khajiit smiling fondly. "Well, before I found you, I was on a cart, on the way to Helgen. That's where I met Ulfric. There were two other prisoners…and the elf. Green eyes, blonde hair, three scars, like a claw mark on her left cheekbone." Rebecca paused, not sure how to continue.

"But how did you know this was the elf that had met the Greybeards?" T'ariq scratched the bridge of his nose with a long, dark claw. Rebecca shook her head, scooting on the bed so that she could sit in front of him.

"I can't be certain," she began, watching T'ariq closely. "But I think the other dragonborn is my character."

That familiar cloud of confusion settled over the Khajiit's eyes. But behind it was a certain knowing gleam. "I do not understand," he admitted. "But T'ariq is sure this has to do with your home. I think I have no choice but to believe you, after all that we have seen."

Rebecca shot him a grateful look. "You remember how I told you that Skyrim is a game where I'm from?" He nodded. "Well, in this game, you get to create your own character, that you play as. And my best playthrough was as a High Elf, with blonde hair and a scar – just like the Altmer I met on the cart. With me so far?"

T'ariq nodded again, though he looked like he was struggling.

"I knew I recognised her…you see, there's not supposed to be anyone else on the road, other than the Stormcloaks and that horse thief. But somehow, she made it in. And," Rebecca took a deep breath. "It looks like she's following the same path that I am. As a dragonborn."

"But it doesn't make sense," she went on. "There can't be two. And _we_ did the main quest so far; Bleak Falls Barrow, thane of Whiterun, killing Mirmulnir…It's like a real life glitch."

T'ariq was silent for a while, his tail waving back and forth in deep thought. The tavern had grown steadily rowdier behind the door as the sun dipped in the sky outside.

"Perhaps this is good," T'ariq suggested finally, his face little more than a shadow beneath the last rays of light streaming through the window above. "Perhaps, you will not have to kill the World-Eater. It may be her destiny to bear."

Rebecca tipped her head to one side, considering his words. "Perhaps." she murmured, unconvinced. Whatever this duplicate was, something deep within her told Rebecca that it could mean nothing but trouble. _As if being stuck in a deadly video game wasn't hard enough,_ she thought.

"So…" T'ariq looked up at her, his tone heavy. "This world…truly, it is not real?"

Rebecca's heart dropped into her stomach as she looked at her friend. She wished she had someone else to confide in, someone whose existence wasn't so totally dependent on a little silver disc in a plastic box. "I don't know," she admitted. "I mean, I'm here." she pointed out. "And this feels pretty real." Rebecca pulled her tunic up to reveal the wound, almost healed, on the inside of her thigh. The dismal look in T'ariq's eye vanished for just a moment, replaced with a glimmer of humour.

"Come," he purred. "The little kit must be hungry."

Felix was still stewing when they returned to the main hall, two steaming hot bowls of carrot soup awaiting them on the table where he and Angmar sat. T'ariq shot Felix an irritated glance that told him to back off as Rebecca sat down to eat, dipping a chunk of bread in her bowl.

"So, what now?" Angmar asked cheerfully.

"Now we kill the other dragonborn," Felix glared at Angmar. "Obviously."

Rebecca smiled to herself as Angmar reached to slap Felix over the head, laughing as the Imperial got worked up into a fury and tried to punch the Reachman, who blocked his attacks with a meaty fist. The two fell about playfighting as T'ariq hung his head and growled quietly in the corner.

"We're _obviously_ not going to do that," Rebecca raised her voice, grabbing the boys' attention. They stopped bickering like children and listened. "We actually need to go to Markarth. I have a friend I need to talk to."

Felix nodded, a wicked grin spreading on his face. "Alright! Let's go kill some Forsworn."

But Angmar looked uncomfortable. "Markarth?" he echoed. Rebecca looked at him curiously.

"Yes, Markarth," she repeated. "Why? You haven't made enemies of the Silver-Bloods or something, have you?" she joked, snorting on her soup. Angmar looked down, suddenly losing his appetite as he pushed his bowl away.

Rebecca's mouth practically hit the floor. "You did not!" she gasped.

Angmar winced. "Not exactly."

The table was now silent, waiting expectantly for the Reachman to elaborate. But he simply shrugged, tying his long blonde hair back with a piece of string as he tore off a corner bread half-heartedly. "I don't want to get into it. But I'm fine to go." he grunted.

No one mentioned the Altmer Dragonborn or Angmar's reluctance to return to the Reach for the rest of the night – they had endured more than their fill of shocking twists for the day. And besides, Rebecca's found herself sitting quietly due to a dull throbbing in her head that seemed to have arisen from a combination of stress and exhaustion. All of that shouting and running down the mountain had finally caught up with her. Apart from Bassianus and Fastred coming to visit Rebecca, thanking her for giving them the courage to skip town, the evening was spent in peace, as the moon rose to the tune of Lynly Star-Sung's sweet melodies.

The next day, the gang gathered at the steps of the inn to say goodbye to sleepy Ivarstead, and begin the long journey west. But after days of travelling, Rebecca's armour weighed heavy on her shoulders, and her sword pulled at her hips.

"Good God," she moaned, stretching to touch her toes in the misty morning air. "It's days like this when I wish you people had cars."

It was a testament to how long they had been on the road together that not one of Rebecca's company paused to question her odd phrases, or cast a suspicious glance. It seemed that everyone was weary, their feet pounding the pavement and aching with each step as they walked. The company had just turned the corner by the lumber mill when the rumble of a cart struck the road, vibrating through the stone path and drawing their attention behind them. Rebecca's eyes lit up as she peered over her shoulder at the empty wagon, a grumpy old man at the front muttering to the young horse that pulled him along the bumpy road.

"Wait, wait!" Rebecca ran out in front of him, waving her hands like a lunatic. The others were so tired they didn't even stop her – they just turned around to watch the exchange with a dulled spark of hope. The old cart-driver slowed to a halt, pulling on the reigns.

"Yes?" he looked down at the girl in front of him with a squint that belonged to old and tired eyes. Rebecca dug into her sack for a coin purse, jingling it temptingly in front of the driver.

"I'll pay you for passage to the Reach?" she gave him the biggest grin she could muster as the miser's eyes locked onto the leather pouch.

"What about the mare you got there?" the Nord man gestured to their Whiterun horse, plodding along beside them.

"She's a carthorse, she'll help along." Rebecca suggested, stepping over to the cart with their horse's reigns in hand. The man hesitated for a split second before nodding grumpily and grumbling something about ungrateful youth as they climbed in the back.

Not even T'ariq could complain once they were seated and wrapped up tight in their warm black cloaks. The Reachman and Khajiit immediately fell asleep, their heads resting against the wooden backboards of the wagon and lulling about in time with the rhythmic plodding of the horses. Meanwhile Rebecca, although exhausted, was utterly unable to get comfortable, sliding around on the bench and trying to create enough room for herself to lie down.

Felix was watching her with an amused smirk. "Here." He patted his lap and leaned back so that the girl could lie her head across his knees. Suddenly her muscles relaxed and her brain shut down.

"Thank you," she murmured, half asleep.

Felix chuckled, his blonde curls brushing the top of her head as he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. Even in her semi-conscious state, Rebecca felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

She blinked one gleaming green eye open. "Hey…" She was barely able to get the words out of her mouth, her lips falling asleep faster than her head. "That was non-consensual…" she protested, trailing off as her mind dropped down the into the warm abyss of sleep, rocked to sleep by the swaying of the carriage and Felix's fingers, playing with the auburn curls cascading across his lap.


	16. Chapter 16

_**THWACK!**_

The head of an arrow landed in the side of the cart. Then another. And then another.

Rebecca shot up in her seat, her eyes wild with fear. Across from her, Angmar had drawn his bow and was firing back. T'ariq was standing on the bench, both hands engulfed in flames, baring his teeth at an unseen enemy. When he noticed Rebecca had woken up, he hissed at her to get down as another arrow flew by, missing his leg by inches.

"What the fuck is going on?" she yelled.

Felix was crouched next to her, peering over the side of the cart and reaching for his swords. "Forsworn." he told her. Rebecca dared to look over the edge, her heart pounding. A band of fur-clad warriors were sprinting towards them from a hilltop, screaming and waving their primitive weapons in the air as they ran.

"We must get out of here!" T'ariq rasped, turning to the driver. "What are you waiting for?"

The old man's hands were shaking as he gripped the reigns. "These are carthorses, they can't gallop!"

T'ariq's tail began to lash back and forth in frustration as he ducked, dodging another arrow. "Fine," he growled. "You two come with me." He beckoned to Angmar and Felix, hopping down from the wagon as the driver slowed. While the boys ran off towards the fight, T'ariq turned back to Rebecca, still cowering by the wooden bench.

"And you," his eyes flashed a warning. "For once, please, do as this one says and stay here!"

Rebecca nodded meekly as he ran off into battle, a sword in one hand and a spell brewing in the other. She wasted no time in retrieving her bow and arrows from the horse in the front, demanding that the cart driver stop completely now that the threat was being met ahead of them.

She readied her bow and aimed over her comrades, trying to get a clear shot. But the Forsworn were moving too fast. Her eyes roamed the fray, desperate for a way to help as Angmar was knocked to the ground by a Briarheart. Her eyes landed on the top of the hill, where the archer was continuing to snipe at the battling pairs. With a sharp intake of breath, Rebecca shifted her aim and drew the string back as tight as she could manage, feeling the arrow knock the metal on its way past the bow.

It landed right on target, staggering the archer and turning his attention away from the battle. But he was too late – by the time he had recovered himself and knocked another arrow, she had fired a fatal shot to his throat. The savage fell backwards, his body rolling down the side of the hill and tripping the woman that was fighting Felix. She dropped to one knee, giving the Imperial the perfect opportunity to sink his weapons into her exposed back and finish her off. Rebecca ignored the scream of agony resonating across the rocky hills as the men returned, blood-spattered and sweating.

"Welcome to the Reach." Angmar panted as he climbed back into the carriage. The driver cracked his reigns and the horses plodded back in motion, as though nothing had ever happened. Rebecca began pulling arrows out of the wood and throwing them into her quiver. In the game, she would never have picked up Forsworn arrows. But out here they would have to make do. Besides, their money wouldn't last forever – she couldn't afford to splurge on arrows at the Markarth smithy.

Luckily, the rest of their journey was comparatively uneventful, although the peaceful sleep they had all been enjoying was now well in the past. When there weren't forsworn lurking behind every boulder, the Reach was actually very beautiful. These mountaintops seemed to be the only ones in Skyrim not dusted with snow, and the weather was pleasant enough for the company to ditch their thick, black travelling cloaks. Although most of the group's moods were improving the more they saw of the country, Angmar only seemed to get more nervous as they approached Markarth. By the time they reached the stone gates, he had donned his cloak again and raised the hood, wrapping it tight around his person.

"Aw, what's wrong Angy?" Felix cooed, reaching a hand to tug at the black fabric. "Got a couple jealous wenches waiting for you?"

Angmar wrapped a meaty hand around Felix's wrist and squeezed until the boy was on his knees, pleading.

"Seriously Angmar, you don't have to come in if you don't want to." Rebecca placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I swore an oath to protect you," he sighed, releasing Felix, who instantly began whining. "If I let you walk into the most dangerous city in Skyrim without me, then my word is worth nothing."

They paid the driver a little extra for the forsworn encounter, uncoupling their own horse from the reigns and leaving her with the war-painted stable master. The brass towers loomed above them as the company of the Dragonborn approached the gates with a sense of apprehension. The air here felt sinister, a tangible tension building the closer they drew. They hadn't yet entered the city, but already it was hard to spot a man or woman without the angry splashes of red and brown paint that lined their faces.

They stopped just by the stairs at Rebecca's request, huddling together just out of earshot of the guards.

"Ok guys, there's going to be an attempted assassination as soon as we get in," she told them. Angmar's concerned expression deepened into a frown. But he'd clearly learnt not to question her, or perhaps he was too preoccupied with his own fears. Either way, he said nothing. "Whoever is fastest needs to stop the attacker."

Felix raised a hand as if to volunteer. "Alright," Rebecca nodded. "He'll be by the jewellery stand."

They climbed the stairs in a line, passing the guards whose heads turned at their arrival, and stepped into the city of stone. Just as she had predicted, a dark-haired man drew a knife the second they walked into the marketplace, stooping to hide it in the folds of his clothes. Rebecca opened her mouth to warn Felix, but he was one step ahead of her. In one swift motion, he plunged a dagger into the Breton's back, lowering him to the ground as guards drew their swords and the locals ran about screaming.

"I die…for my people." the assassin gasped. The light faded from his eyes as Felix dropped his weapon at the command of the nearest guard.

"He saved her life!" someone shouted. The Markarth guard looked back and forth between the dead man and the Imperial. After a tense pause, Margret, the would-be victim, stepped forward and vouched for Felix's innocence.

"It's true," she nodded, clearly shaken from the experience. She was clutching a little silver necklace by her chest, her eyes stuck to the body in front of her. The guards backed off and gathered instead around the dead Breton.

"Oh, I think you dropped this."

A familiar voice caught Rebecca's attention. A red-headed Reachman had appeared at Felix's side, handing him a folded piece of parchment. He had dark stripes of intricate warpaint all across his face, but it didn't hide the meaningful look he shot the boy as he turned and walked away.

Felix frowned at the paper in his hands, his brown eyes scanning the hurried scrawl within as the others walked over to him. "That man just asked me to meet him at the Shrine of Talos." Felix told them, looking up in surprise.

Rebecca rolled her eyes and walked on past him. "We're not getting involved in all that crap. We're just here for Tom."

"Remind me," Angmar growled, glancing from left to right as they followed the waterways up toward Understone Keep. "Who is Tom, and why does he have to be _here_?"

"He's Player One." was all Rebecca could say. They veered left, heading toward the Hag's Cure so that Rebecca could try out some of the herbs she had plucked whilst on the road. It became apparent that the ominous ambiance that she had noticed outside the city gates seemed to have followed them inside. Everywhere they looked, guards, Reachmen and Nords alike were eying them up suspiciously. Whispers of their arrival spread through the streets like wildfire. But Rebecca had a sneaking feeling that their hostility could be attributed to more than just the foreigners amongst the group.

Bothela greeted them warmly from behind the counter as they entered the potions shop, waving them inside the stone abode. Rebecca passed Muiri, sulking as usual, and walked straight up to the alchemy lab, digging a couple of blisterwort mushrooms and some blue mountain flowers out of her bag.

"Angmar?" Bothela's shrill voice was spiked with fear. Rebecca glanced over her shoulder to see the Reachman lowering his hood. He grabbed the old woman by the arm and frogmarched her to a backroom, shooting the others an apologetic look.

Rebecca hardly batted an eye, and turned back to grinding up her mushroom with a pestle and mortar. Agitated muttering could be heard from the back, muffled by the stone walls, but Angmar's threatening tone was unmistakable. Different theories popped into the back of Rebecca's mind...clearly Angmar was not who they thought he was.

Muiri brought her some hot water and showed her how to mix the ingredients in a way that maximised the potency. A few minutes later, she had made herself three weak healing potions, and was practically glowing with pride. She poured them into the iconic red flasks and dropped the bottles into her bag

"Not bad at all!" the assistant gave Rebecca a warm smile and placed a hand on her shoulder. "If you need anything else, give me a call." And with that, Muiri turned and headed to her quarters, glancing over her shoulder to flash her those pearly whites once again as she went.

Rebecca was surprised at the kindness afforded her by one of the most viciously vengeful women in the game. The memory of Muiri's contract placed with the Dark Brotherhood seemed to contradict the smily girl across the room. She returned to Felix and T'ariq to see the boy grinning wolfishly.

"What now?" she groaned. Felix tried unsuccessfully to replace his gleeful grin with a serene smile. "Oh, nothing," he shrugged. He paused for a moment, unable to stop himself from adding, "Just nice to see someone else getting some action for once," with a stretch, deliberately tensing his biceps. Rebecca blinked once.

"I'm sorry?"

"She was flirting with you!" Felix laughed. Rebecca hushed him, shooting a worried look behind her. But Muiri hadn't seemed to hear Felix's brazen announcement, and was still pottering down the hallway with a bundle of herbs in her arms. She thought back to the unnecessary touching, the uncharacteristic warmth in the young Breton's smile.

"Muiri's gay?" she whispered, half to herself.

"She's what?" Felix cocked his head to the side.

"Gay?" Rebecca repeated. "As in, she likes women."

"Doesn't everyone?" Felix asked. Rebecca giggled before taking a look at his face. For once, he wasn't joking. She leaned to the side, her eyes falling on T'ariq as realisation dawned on her.

"Do you like men?" she gasped, her mind reeling with the consequences of Felix's little revelation. The Khajiit shook his head, picking up a bundle of elves ear to sniff. "No, this one does not have an interest in men," he grimaced. "They are so…hairless and odd."

Rebecca had to stifle her laughter as the cat coughed after curiously lifting a chaurus egg to smell. "No, I mean males." she corrected herself.

T'ariq turned away from the counter to face her and Felix. "Oh." he said. "Then, yes."

Rebecca's eyes flew wide. Unable to utter more than an amazed stammer, she found herself looking at Felix. He sniggered as he realised what she was attempting to ask.

"Don't worry princess," he smirked. "I prefer a female touch. That's not to say I haven't had my fair share of experiments, though."

Rebecca was silent for a moment, surprised to find herself relived at such news. So, Skyrim was LGBTQ+ friendly…or at least the LGB part. Of course, she always had the option to marry who they wanted in the game, but since there had never been an obvious gay couple in the country, she had always assumed it was just for the players. Suddenly, her opinion of Muiri had shot up.

She was snapped back to reality by the slamming of a door against stone. A moment later, Angmar appeared, Bothela scowling behind him. The Reachman raised his hood once more and lead them out of the shop. "Let's go."

Rebecca was almost too wrapped up in her own thoughts to answer when Angmar asked where they should search. The sky was deepening into a navy blue as they headed up to Vlindrel Hall, where she presumed Tom to be living. The view from up high was stunning; Rebecca felt the breath catch in her throat as she took in the clear night sky blanketing the valley of the Karth River beyond the city. The fires had been lit down below, turning the rushing streams that babbled between stone walkways a shining silver. As the moon rose, the people faded into mere shadows, flitting between houses and pouring light onto the greying streets from the briefly opened doors.

Yet the door behind her did not open when knocked upon. They waited for several minutes, and banged rather loudly before giving up, and heading to the Silver-Blood Inn for lodgings and a last search before they turning in for the night.

To Rebecca's surprise, this was where they found Tom.

The locals all stopped to stare at the newcomers as they entered, some radiating hatred and some merely curious. Felix was certainly enjoying all the attention, winking back at a particularly hostile barmaid, who slammed their drinks down on the counter with a glare. Angmar bought them a pair of rooms and immediately headed off to bed, claiming to be exhausted from the day's travelling. Though the others weren't fooled, they let him go, not wishing to attract any further attention by keeping a brooding, hooded figure at their table.

It only took Rebecca a minute of searching before she noticed the familiar red glow of daedric armour from behind the bar. Excusing herself from Felix and T'ariq's company, she pulled up a stool next to Tom with a smile, a part of her overjoyed to see the other player again. But Tom was not as warm. He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes, his head hung low and his gaze fixed on a point past her shoulder.

"Ah," he took a deep swig from his pint. "So you're still alive." His breath was heavy with the scent of brandy. Rebecca recoiled and ordered herself another mead.

"Yes…" she trailed off, unsure of how to face this unfamiliar man. He was the same American, brown hair, pale complexion, and a well-built frame. But this man in front of her also had a thick layer of stubble along his jawline, and haggard eyes. And, though he didn't slur his words, Rebecca could tell he'd had more than his fill from the line of empty bottles by his side.

"I came to see you at Vlindrell Hall, but you weren't there." she began. Tom gave a dark chuckle. "Evidently." he spread his arms, tilting the bottle in his hand dangerously close to spilling point. "No, I don't live there anymore. Resets, remember?"

Rebecca nodded awkwardly. She decided not to beat around the bush any longer. "Listen, I'm here because there's been an error. Another dragonborn has spawned in the game, and I think-"

"An Altmer, yeah." Tom cut her off. His eyes were still unfocused, staring blankly behind her. "So I heard. Been running around near Morthal, supposedly."

 _Morthal_ , she thought. _Isn't Ustengrav near Morthal_? _Maybe she's after the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller_.

"Right," Rebecca answered, trying not to watch as Tom finished off the rest of his bottle, golden brandy dripping down his chin. "Well, I wanted to ask if you knew anything about it. Has something like this ever happened before?"

But Tom was no longer listening. His eyes were still fixed on something behind her, but now they were no longer blank. Rebecca swivelled in her chair. To her, there seemed nothing particularly exciting lurking at the back of the inn, except a few drunkards and a barmaid.

"What are you looking at?" she asked him, her words tinged with irritation.

Tom sighed, and pointed past her shoulder. She followed his finger, and turned again. This time, her eyes fell on a young blonde woman, stoking the fire as she handed an old Nord another drink. She was very pretty, with light blue eyes and a thin face, as Rebecca saw when she looked up to answer the call of the innkeep, Kleppr.

"Hroki!" Kleppr beckoned his daughter and saddled her with another tray of drinks and soup. Hroki walked over, her soft eyes falling upon Tom for barely a moment. Rebecca could've sworn she saw a flicker of recognition in her gaze, as she paused, her lips parting as if to speak. But in an instant she was gone, her shadow reflected in Tom's watery eyes as he stared after her.


	17. Chapter 17

Rebecca returned to Felix and T'ariq, who were seated at a table near the fire, anxiously waiting the result of her conversation with Player One. They seemed to sense her weariness, however, and one look at Tom over by the bar told them not to press for answers. Instead, T'ariq slid a bowl of soup towards his friend with a weak smile.

"This one will get another drink." He gently touched her shoulder before heading to the bar.

"So…" Rebecca knew the look of pity that was on Felix's face, and didn't want to face him and his probing questions. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the piece of bread she was tearing apart in her hands. Felix glanced at her apprehensively. "No luck, huh?"

"As usual." Rebecca muttered. She was utterly disheartened after her encounter with Tom, and not just because he had been as clueless as she was. She had seen a glimpse of her own potential in the drunkard at the bar – it wasn't totally unfathomable to think that in a few years time, she too might be living at the bottom of a bottle, pining after some man or woman who didn't know her name. That was, of course, if she lived to see it.

Rebecca's bottom lip began to quiver, but she started as something warm and soft slid across her hands. She finally looked up to find Felix's fingers interlacing with her own, his thumb stroking her knuckles.

"It's ok, princess." Felix was looking at her with those dumb brown eyes, stirring her insides and pressing pause on her heart. Rebecca found herself captivated by the caramel flecks that caught the torchlight and shone it back at her, like little golden stars.

She tore herself away, pulling her hand from his. She heard him sigh.

"Listen, Felix, I don't-"

The words were barely out of her mouth before his lips came crashing into hers. Her heart erupted in a flurry of erratic beating as the breath was knocked from her by his embrace. A hand was slid around her waist, making her tingle as he reached past the fur lining of her armour and pulled her closer.

After what seemed like an age, Rebecca pulled away.

"I've been waiting to do that since Riverwood." Felix chuckled, his breath hot on her cheek. The deep affection with which he beheld her sent shock waves of pleasant surprise through her. She knew it had been building for a while, but a tangible infatuation from someone like the boy in front of her was…unexpected. Rebecca was a little stunned. For once, she had no witty retort or biting comeback. The blood rose to her cheeks in the absence of his lips, and she looked down in a sheepish attempt to hide it.

Fortunately, she was saved from inventing a response by the sudden entry of a squad of city guards, who came bursting through the doors, weapons drawn. Rebecca's mind was immediately snatched from the reeling kiss and thrown into exasperation. After the events of that evening, she thought, what could possibly be the matter now?

But although the Silver-Blood Inn had fallen silent upon their arrival, the guards made no attempt to converse with the locals. Instead they marched straight towards the guest bedrooms, their boots scraping against the stone floor.

T'ariq had returned, obviously oblivious to the exchange between his comrades, and holding two bottles of wine. He was staring after the guards as they turned a corner, his eyes glowing with suspicion. "What has happened?" he rasped.

The words had barely left his mouth when an angry yell sounded from one of the rooms, proceeded by a dull thud. The next thing they knew, Angmar's unconscious body was being dragged down the hallway, still fully armoured and with his legs trailing on the floor.

"What in Oblivion do you think you're doing?" Felix had drawn both his blades and was attempting to block the path of the guards. One of them threw a chain-mailed arm to shove him aside as they turned the corner.

"This man has committed crimes against Skyrim and her people," one guard claimed.

Rebecca stood beside the Imperial. "And what crimes are those, exactly?" she asked, more out of curiosity than in defence of her friend. No matter how much she liked Angmar, his behaviour had been more than questionable since they had entered the Reach. At this stage, she would hardly have been shocked if he turned out to be Madanach's right hand man.

"For inciting violence and instigating an uprising," the same guard grunted, pulling the dazed man to his feet. The inn was silent as they escorted him out of the building, one man in particular, staring after them with a look of utter horror. It was Eltrys, perched by the door with a tankard in his hand and glimmer of recognition in his eyes.

Rebecca stomped over to him, grabbing one of the bottles that T'ariq had bought along for good measure. "Alright Eltrys," she began, not registering the look of disbelief on the young man's face. "What do you know about Angmar?"

"How do you-?"

"Nope, not important," she corrected him with an accusatory finger, barely an inch from his eyes. "Why have they arrested him?"

Eltrys seemed hesitant to answer, until Felix and T'ariq appeared behind her, squaring up and playing the part of the intimidating back-up.

"Well, I…" Eltrys swallowed. "A little while ago we started working together to expose the corruption in the city." His voice had dropped an octave, as he cast a wary glance around the inn. But as with every inn in Skyrim, it seemed, silence and intrigue never lasted long while the mead was flowing – the Silver-Blood tavern was already brimming with song and drink as though nothing had ever happened. Eltrys continued. "We got really close to something too, until Nepos' people chased him out of the city. Claimed he was conspiring against the Jarl."

Rebecca rubbed her temples as a groan escaped her.

"What?" Felix had come closer and was leaning down against her left shoulder. "What is it?"

She glanced at his lips, only inches from her neck. Conscious of his unmoving presence at her side, Rebecca turned around to face her companions and moved ever-so-slightly away from the radius of lavender oil. "We have to get Angmar out of there."

T'ariq looked as tired as she felt. "Out of the jail?" he asked. Rebecca nodded.

Felix tipped his head back, moaning. "Can't we do it in the morning?"

"No you idiot! The mine is crawling with Forsworn, he'll be dead by then." she declared, morbidly. "It's fine, we'll just go and ask the Jarl very nicely to please release our good friend. And if the mention of my being Dragonborn gets dropped into the conversation somehow, then I reckon all will go swimmingly."

All did not go swimmingly.

Jarl Igmund was as stubborn by his bedside as he was when seated on the stone throne. Admittedly, his refusal to let Angmar go was likely influenced by their decision to wake him from what would otherwise have been an early night.

"I didn't even know my guards arrested the scoundrel!" he announced. "But if they did, then it must have been for good reason."

Rebecca resisted the urge to laugh at the image of a furious Igmund in his bedclothes, shaking his fist from beneath the covers. _What a Jarl_ , she thought. No wonder there was so much corruption in Markarth, if their fearless leader had no idea who his guards were arresting, and couldn't be bothered to get out of bed for matters of state.

"But sir, he's done nothing wrong!" Rebecca protested, ignoring the flash of doubt that crossed her mind. "Can we at least appeal the decision?"

The Jarl blinked at her. "What do you think this is, the Aldmeri High Court?" he roared with laughter. Rebecca rolled her eyes, grabbing Felix and T'ariq as she stormed out of the room.

"What now?"

"We find another w-"

Rebecca had halted in her tracks at a small congregation of Thalmor soldiers and wizards over by Calcelmo's laboratory. She changed course, swerving right out of curiosity more than anything else. As they drew closer, it became apparent that the Thalmor agents were bristling, their voices raised as they confronted three robed elves; Calcelmo, Aicantar, and one familiar face – Feraldur. Their old friend had his hood drawn high, and was standing a little behind the other two mages, hiding his face. _Why am I not surprised_?

"Well, when did you arrive?" Ondolemar sounded haughty as usual, even in speaking with his fellow mer. Feraldur opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Calcelmo.

"Over a week ago." The old conjurer folded his arms. Rebecca's eyebrow twitched at the lie. He had been in Windhelm with them merely four days ago, and god knows where since then. Before the Thalmor could interrogate any further, Feraldur had noticed the crew with a sly glance and a smile.

"Excuse me, Justiciars." He slid away, despite weak protestation from Ondolemar, and drew the group aside. "Hello again, my friends."

Those ivy-green orbs looked semi-precious in a place as dark as Understone Keep, glowing in the torchlight. But behind his joy at their reconciliation, there was a glimmer of relief in his eyes. Before the company could ask him any questions themselves, Feraldur had started towards the door, beckoning for them to follow him surreptitiously.

"What brings you to Markarth?" he asked pleasantly, glancing behind them at the Thalmor guards watching them leave from the steps.

"Oh, just an Altmer Dragonborn, and a drunkard," Felix put his hands behind his head and grinned at the high elf. "A jailbreak here and there."

Felix looked alarmed.

"Don't worry, we won't drag you into the jailbreak part." Rebecca waved a dismissive hand as they left the Keep and walked along the highest tier of the city, seeking a little privacy. They stopped just beneath a waterfall, eyeing the guards that patrolled nearby.

Felix shook his head, his voice lowered. "No, no…pardon me, but did you say the Dragonborn is an Altmer?"

"Well that's actually kind of up for debate right now." Rebecca murmured, reaching awkwardly to scratch her neck.

Felix appeared to be wrapped up in his own thoughts. "But all my sources say the Dovahkiin was a young girl, accompanied by…" He trailed off, slowly looking up to see the crew standing sheepishly in front of him. Rebecca spread her arms in defeat, shaking her head with an amused sigh. Realisation sparked in those almond-shaped eyes and Feraldur broke into a smile. "How foolish of me."

"Listen pal, we'd love to help you out," Felix stepped forward with his usual brazen swagger. He threw an arm around Feraldur, who was significantly taller than him and thus stretched the boy uncomfortably. "But we sort of got a man to spring."

Feraldur raised his eyebrows, looking back at Rebecca as though he was still in disbelief. "Unfortunately, he's right," she shrugged. "Hopefully we'll see you around?"

They headed toward Cidhna Mine, thankful that the cover of night was upon them as they left the elf in their wake, stunned into silence on the stone perch. Once they had reached the opening of the cave system that made up Markarth's prison, Rebecca hid herself behind a stone pillar and pointed to the others to follow her lead. She peered around the side, checking out the two guards that covered the entrance. One looked like he was half-asleep, his head leaned back against the wall and his arms flopped down by his side.

"What is the plan?" T'ariq whispered. Rebecca watched as the conscious guard took one look at his partner and walked off, presumably headed for the inn. The remaining man let a monster snore rip through the calm night air.

"We sneak in, avoiding guards, and try to get Angmar out without a fight." she told them. The boys looked back at her with identical expressions of doubt.

"You want to sneak in?" Felix scoffed. "In that?"

Rebecca realised they had a point. She was hardly dressed for the job in a heavy set of clunking steel armour. Besides, she had hardly ever tried to sneak in real life – she had strong doubts that she would be any good if it meant squatting in motion for as long as required.

"How about I go in solo?" Felix suggested, puffing out his chest.

"Are you stupid?" Rebecca snapped.

"No, I'm lucky," he smirked, leaning right into her, his lips brushing her cheek. "Remember?"

Rebecca shivered as he squeezed past her, dropping into a crouch the moment he had passed the pillar. She locked eyes with T'ariq for a moment, watching their exchange with a look of heavy disapproval.

Felix edged toward the mine along the walls, only breaking out into the moonlit path when he was metres from the door. But it seemed the guard was well and truly asleep, and didn't even stir when Felix crept into the premises, flashing Rebecca one last smug smile before he vanished into the shadows.

Now all that was left was to wait, as T'ariq and Rebecca stayed behind cover, their quiet breaths melting into the rushing water and the soundscape of the city. To her relief, he didn't mention Felix, and instead allowed her to listen closely for any disruption inside the mine. The cool breeze kissed her skin as time stretched on, thinning out until it felt as though they had been waiting for hours. Eventually, the plodding of footsteps from down the hill drew her attention back to the door. The other guard had returned, and had drawn his weapon, evidently hearing something inside the mine that they could not. He nudged the sleeping man with the butt of his blade, jerking him awake with a snort. They headed inside the mine together as Rebecca's heartbeat quickened in her throat.

She glanced at T'ariq, who put a finger to his lips and nodded. One after the other, they crept toward the now unguarded door. Rebecca glanced behind them, glad to see that the streets were still as ever while the yellow moon rose above them. T'ariq pushed open the brass door as slowly as he could manage, the orange torchlight flickering on the ground within as the warm air spilled out into the night.

There was no sign of the guards, so they hurried down the slopes inside until they came to a tunnel that led out into a big open cave - Cidhna Mine. There were rusty pickaxes lying around the piles of ore and caged cells, as dust fell from the ceiling at intervals and tickled their throats. T'ariq and Rebecca stuck to the side of the tunnel as their eyes landed on Felix, a level above them, watching the scuffle beneath.

In the open space, the prisoners were gathered in a circle, the torchlight casting long shadows on the ground. They were watching some kind of interrogation, with the guards standing by at the other end, pretending not to notice. At the centre was Angmar, on his knees in front of the King in Rags himself, his face bloody and bruised.

"You would dare turn on your own?" Madanach roared.

Angmar spat out a thick clump of blood. He glared up at the old man with a burning hatred in those icy blue eyes. "You are _not_ my people." he growled.

Borkul the Beast, the great green orc, sent a thick fist flying at him at Madanach's command. Angmar slumped on the ground with a groan as the punch connected with his jaw and knocked him sideways. The Forsworn leader squatted down to his level as the poor Reachman leaned on his bound hands, drooling blood into the dust.

"Don't think I don't know who you are, boy," Madanach chuckled. His eyes had lit up maniacally, his lips twitching into a wicked grin. "You were born in the hills, we raised you. You can't run from that." He sighed, taking a shiv handed to him by the orc. "But now, you know too much. Your running days are over, coward."

Madanach raised the shoddy blade high in the air. Without thinking, Rebecca drew an arrow from her quiver and fired a shot. The arrow found its mark, the head and shaft buried in the Forsworn king's chest as a pool of scarlet grew appeared around the steel, soaking his tunic. The prison was silent for a moment as the shiv fell to the ground with a clatter, and a drop of blood fell from Madanach's lips. His eyes locked with Rebecca's, frozen in the shadows, as he gasped his last breath and collapsed next to Angmar with a thud.

The next moment in prison came alive, weapons drawn and prisoners running to their cells as the guards and Forsworn allies ran toward the intruders, their eyes filled with rage as they roared a ferocious battle cry. T'ariq ran forward, his instincts faster than hers, sword flashing as daggers fell down on the assaulters from above. Felix leapt down into the fray as T'ariq began freezing legs and bodies to the ground. After an age, feeling crept back into Rebecca's limbs, and she loosed another few arrows into the stabbing, swirling and screaming mass of bodies.

The guards were tugging at their frozen boots and arms, rooted to the ground and walls as Felix slashed at the remaining armed prisoners. Soon, all that was left was Borkul, every muscle shining with sweat as he stunned Felix with a heavy blow to the head. T'ariq was desperately trying to cast ice at his limbs, but the orc was too strong. Borkul threw another punch, this time at the Khajiit, who was thrown backwards by the force behind his fist. Thinking fast, Rebecca aimed for the orc's ankle and released, a thunderous cry sounding from the beast as he fell to one knee. In the pause, Felix scrabbled to his feet and grabbed Angmar, one eye clouded with blood gushing from a wound on his forehead. He slit the binding around the Reachman's hands and made for the exit. The men ran, Angmar stumbling along beside them, one arm interlinked with Felix and another with T'ariq. Rebecca took up the rear, her bowstring drawn taught in case anyone decided to follow.

Angmar was passing still in and out of consciousness when they dragged him to the gate, their hearts racing at a hundred miles an hour, all senses heightened and tense in case someone had heard the skirmish and came sprinting. But morning was on the horizon, and the city remained in bed, the only visible guards stationed up at the keep, and too far to see them down bellow.

"Wait here." A spark of ingenuity had popped into Rebecca's head.

"Are you kidding?!" Felix snapped. But she didn't respond, running instead up to the stone steps by the keep, where a lone man stood, silhouetted against the firepits. Feraldur saw her coming, emerging from the darkness with a look of concern. With one eye on the guards, Rebecca tipped her head toward the gate and turned around, hearing the elf's footsteps grow louder as he followed.

"What is it?" he asked, noticing the urgency in her gaze.

Rebecca's eyes were fixed on the figures huddled against the gate, barely more than shadows in the night. "You're looking for the Dragonborn?" she asked. She glanced at the Altmer, his brown hair flying in the wind as they picked up the speed. He hesitated for less than a second before nodding. Rebecca looked back to the gate as they approached the others, wide-eyed and hunched over Angmar's crumpled body. "Then come with us."

By some bizarre twist of fate, the gate was unguarded in the countryside, the stablemen all fast asleep in bed and the walkway deserted in the moments before dawn. The only man awake was a cart driver, who stood up to peer through the darkness at the group lurching down the steps.

"Hey!" he shouted, his eyes wide at the sight of Angmar's battered face and stained rags. T'ariq and Felix slung him in the back of the carriage, Feraldur jumping up behind them and immediately setting to work on the Reachman's wounds. Rebecca landed a fat sack of coins in the driver's lap.

"You can have the whole thing if you keep your mouth shut." She shot him a warning glare as the driver nodded fervently, cracking the reigns as the cart shuddered to life.

"Where to?" he called, as Rebecca climbed into the back.

"Anywhere." she sighed. "As long as it's not here."


	18. Chapter 18

The cart rumbled along the road as the sun rose in the east, blessing the wounded companions with its light and warmth. Feraldur was still kneeling next to Angmar, his hands humming with golden energy that sealed the cuts and paled the bruises. Every once in a while, T'ariq would hand the elf a magicka potion, which Feraldur would drain completely before returning to his patient. Meanwhile, Felix was sipping on a little red bottle of health, his arm around Rebecca who was huddled against him. The weather was growing colder despite the dawn, as the carriage driver turned to the Druadac mountains, following the Karth River north.

She could barely keep her eyes open, shivering more from exhaustion than the weather, and falling into fleeting moments of uneasy sleep. Felix moved her aside at one stage, so that he could fetch their travelling cloaks from the horses upfront, draping her with his and rubbing her back to keep her blood flowing. When she did eventually fall asleep, her dreams were filled with the scent of lavender oil and sweat, and moved in time to a heartbeat, pumping under the bare chest she leaned against. Their breaths slowed and grew heavier, until the whole carriage was sunk in a deep slumber. All except T'ariq, who sat, wrapped tightly in his cloak, keeping watch over the company.

"Ok. Yes, we thank you."

The cart had stopped moving after a short climb up a hill, and was now resting by the side of the road. The air, though distinctly crisper than in Markarth, was still warm with the last of the summer's breeze. The sun was now well-risen, and had begun its climb above them as the birds sang, perched on juniper bushes and birch trees.

Rebecca sat up as Felix stirred beneath her, rubbing his eyes and stretching. They were in a small, seemingly deserted village, with a few small buildings and two mines – Karthwasten, she realised. Rebecca gathered her belongings and stepped down from the carriage as T'ariq untethered their horse. Angmar and Feraldur were already on the ground, shuffling in their sacks to find their cloaks, as the driver turned and headed back down the path.

"All that gold and he only dropped us to Karthwasten?" Rebecca yawned.

"T'ariq told him to leave us here." The Khajiit watched as her eyes flew open in anger.

"You did what?" she spluttered.

"I did not trust this one," he explained. With a glance over his shoulder, he added "Besides…someone was following us."

They turned as a group to the main road, expecting a patrol of guards to show up at any moment, weapons in hand as they raced toward them. When no such apparition appeared, Rebecca returned her focus to her circle of comrades, her gaze landing on Angmar with an anxious frown.

"How are you doing?" she asked. But before he could answer, Felix had spun around, glaring.

"Oh, and that reminds me!" His voice was shrill in the quiet of Karthwasten. " _What_ were you doing?"

Angmar shuffled awkwardly on the spot, picking at a bandage wrapped around his ribs. He was opening his mouth to speak, but was once again interrupted by the Imperial boy.

"You could've gotten us all killed!" he yelled.

Rebecca threw a hard slap at his arm. "Will you shut up, for once? He was trying to do his job." she snapped. Her tolerance for Felix's antics was far thinner than usual, owing to the severe lack of sleep they were all experiencing. Felix shot her a pout as Angmar finally spoke up. "Felix is right." he conceded. Rebecca raised her eyebrows, almost ready to bark at him too. But she bit her tongue upon seeing the defeated slump in the Reachman's shoulders, and the guilty glimmer in his eyes.

"Angmar, that's not-"

"Sh!"

T'ariq had dropped into a crouch, one ear twitching. His eyes widened as he grabbed Rebecca, pulling her toward the nearest bush. The rest were lost until the sound reached their ears too; the clip-clopping of a single horse on the road beneath them.

They were all well out of sight by the time the rider arrived, stopping just in front of the sign post on the road. They couldn't see their mystery follower due to the undergrowth, all except for a black pair of daedric boots that landed on the ground beside the horse. Rebecca refrained from gasping, and shuffled forward despite the protestations of the others, trying to peer through the branches for a better look. Her fear vanished as the leaves parted to reveal Tom, staring right at the bush they were cowering behind, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Rebecca rushed out at her fellow player, her arms wide. "Tom!" She collided with him, forcing a grunt from the man as he chuckled and wrapped his plated arms around her. She pulled back after a second or two and sniffed, frowning suspiciously at her fellow player.

"You're not still drunk?" she asked, her tone dry as a bone. Tom laughed. His eyes travelled above her head as her followers emerged from the branches, pulling twigs from their hair and watching the newcomer closely.

"Jeez," he whistled. "You've got yourself quite the boyband."

Rebecca hit him playfully on the shoulder, carefully aiming so that she didn't accidentally impale her hand on one of the oversized spikes that adorned his armour.

"This is the one who was following us?" T'ariq pulled a leaf from his fur, scratching an ear in irritation. Tom spread his hands aside of him. "My apologies. But it was for good reason."

Rebecca cocked her head to the side as he handed her a folded piece of paper.

"What's this?" she asked, trying to decipher the inky scribbles within.

"That, is the code solution to a glitch that we encountered when we originally set up the- um…" Tom trailed off. Rebecca glanced up at him expectantly before following his gaze to the four men behind her.

"Oh," she started, giving the boys a meaningful look before dragging Tom off across town. Once they were alone by the side of a building, he spoke again. "What you mentioned last night," he explained. "I think it's the Gemino glitch."

Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut. The cogs in her mind were turning too slowly for conversation of this kind so early in the morning. She was still processing his original statement when Tom continued, taking her silence as a cue to continue.

"Sometimes when restarting on a heavy bank of saves, we would find duplicate characters within the game, usually important ones that acted differently but held the same quests, same dialogue, same items, etcetera-"

"I'm sorry, hang on a moment," Rebecca waved a hand in his face, cutting him off. "Did you…help create Skyrim?"

Tom smiled wistfully. "Prototype tester," he pointed at himself with pride. Of course! There was practically steam coming out of the girl's ears now – he had been trapped for almost seven years, lived in Maryland, USA…it all made sense, he was a programmer!

"But that's beside the point," Tom carried on. "Although the Dragonborn themselves were never duplicated, I think when you landed here you became a character as opposed to a player, meaning you could be copied."

Rebecca was nodding. "Ok, fine, let's say your crazy glitch theory is right. How do we solve it?"

Tom waved the piece of paper in his hand. "The glitch arises from a conflict of purpose. Characters all exist to complete a certain function. Two Ulfric Stormcloaks can be deleted by finishing the civil war questline, two Astrid's by burning the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary," he paused, looking at her pointedly. "Do you get where this is going?"

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "But the player doesn't have a function."

Tom grinned, pointing a finger at her. "No. But a character does."

There was a moment of silence between the two in which Tom waited for her lightbulb to glow, and Rebecca stared blanklyat him.

"Ok," she sighed. "You're a drunkard _and_ a madman." She turned to head back to the others, when Tom grabbed her by the wrist and spun her around.

"No, don't you get it?" His brown eyes were wide open. "The Dragonborn, as a character, has one purpose. To defeat Alduin."

He stepped back, letting go of her wrist with a triumphant smile. Rebecca let his words sink in before finding a grin spread across her own face. "So…I can just let my double kill the World-Eater?" she beamed. "I can buy myself a house in Whiterun and retire?"

A sudden guilty flash crossed Tom's face. "Oh, uh…no, not quite."

Rebecca blinked at him. After a moment, she began to rub her temples, taking a deep breath as she felt herself inching closer and closer to maximum capacity on her bad news meter. "Not quite?" she exploded, throwing her arms up in the air. Tom flinched as her eyes began to burn.

The others turned around from across the town, and Tom smirked. "Glad it's not me on the receiving end, for once." he muttered.

"Please, Tom." Rebecca clapped her palms together, raising her gaze heavenward as if to pray. "Enlighten me. How could things possibly get any worse?"

Tom swallowed nervously. "Well, actually-" he cut off at the sight of her eye beginning to twitch, before steeling himself. "You have to kill Alduin, and you have to do it before your duplicate. See, only the successful twin remains…if you don't get there first, you'll be erased."

Rebecca was quiet. A thousand questions tried to force their way out of her mouth, a hundred protestations, a million pitiful pleas, all bouncing around inside her head. She wasn't ready! She wanted to scream at Tom and then the sky before running far, far away, where nobody would ever find her. But all she could manage was a simple nod.

She gave Tom a very stiff thank you and wished him well. He left her with a few hushed words of reassurance, a pat on the back and a weak smile, but it all went in one ear and out the other. She returned to the company with a black stormcloud over her head as Player One road off into the distance. One look at her face told the group not to ask her about her conversation with the strange man, as always, and so they began plodding miserably down the road, the old chestnut horse in tow.

"So…where are we going now?" Felix dared, kicking a rock down the hill.

"To find a fucking Elder Scroll." Rebecca growled.

T'ariq spat out the water from his gourd. Feraldur nearly tripped over himself, his eyes practically bulging out of his shiny golden head. "Pardon me?" Feraldur's throat sounded tight. Rebecca sighed, deciding to lay it out so that at least she wouldn't have to repeat herself.

"There is a duplicate dragonborn. She is following a series of quests that will lead her to battling Alduin in Sovngarde, and saving the world. I have to beat her there, or else I will die."

A heavy silence settled over the travellers as they rejoined the Karth river, crossing a bridge and following signs for Winterhold.

"Ironically, facing Alduin means I might die anyway, because as we all know, I can't fight to save my life, literally," she snapped. Taking another deep breath, and clearing the red from the edges of her vision, Rebecca forced herself to calm down and try again. "The only advantage we have is that I know exactly where she's going, and what she's doing. And while she's busy trying to impress the Greybeards and making friends with the Blades, we're going to head straight to Winterhold to find us an Elder Scroll."

"Can't explain why I need it, I just do," she added, after seeing Feraldur frown and open his mouth. After that, there was very little conversation as they walked on beneath the mountains. Felix and Angmar found their spirits lifting the further they got from Markarth, and, as usual, ended up play fighting and scuffling in the road until T'ariq came along to break them up with an impatient scowl. The High Elf watched them in amusement, occasionally risking a few questions with Rebecca, whose temper had not returned. But since he had lent his healing skills to the group, and seeing as she had promised him answers in return, she thought it only fair to tell him most of what she knew. Some parts she had to leave out, for fear that he might shift the subject of his inquiry to how she had access to all this knowledge.

Another day passed in transit, with the slow thumping of boots on the ground instilling a rhythm in their hearts as the company of the Dovahkiin marched slowly north. Angmar bagged them some game along the way, using Rebecca's bow and arrows since he had lost most of his possessions in Markarth. By the time the sky was streaked with purples and blues, and night came creeping in, they were all far too tired to carry on, and set up camp just south of Dragonbridge, along the border with Haafingar. Although they all felt a little uneasy to be spending one more night in the Reach, their escapades the night before meant that they could go no farther. They had decided to take the northern road from Dragonbridge to Winterhold, rather than cutting through Whiterun, just in case they were being hunted, or expected at the eastern border.

Angmar set down the day's catch as Feraldur started a fire. The rest of them helped to pitch tents, wary of the clouds hovering over the moon as they slung their bedrolls inside. Before long, they had the fatty rump of a dear sizzling on a spit, and were gathered on a collection of logs, telling jokes and stories to fight off the cold. As it turned out, Feraldur was pretty good fun when he wasn't so busy being mysterious. And, although he remained too polite to banter with the boys, he was quick-witted, and entertained T'ariq and Rebecca all throughout supper.

Felix offered to take the first watch, leaving him and Rebecca alone as the others dropped off to bed, one by one. He propped himself up against a fallen tree, not far from the fire, and patted his lap.

"C'mon," he winked. "We can squeeze in a quickie before I collapse from exhaustion."

Rebecca rolled her eyes, but couldn't resist a little smile. Reluctantly, she padded over to join him, sitting between his legs with her back resting against that ever-bare chest of his.

"That's it," he chuckled as she lowered herself down to the ground. "I knew you were a cuddler." Rebecca twisted in his grip, scoffing in mock outrage.

"The nerve of you!" she giggled. "I'll have you know that this is out of necessity, and necessity alone." Despite her teasing tone, this was (to some extent) true. Having changed into her bedclothes before dinner, she was now feeling the nip in the air, and needed the warmth of the fire and the boy behind her to keep from shivering.

"Sure, sure," Felix nuzzled her neck. "Just admit you can't resist me." Even the slightest movement in his lips showered sparks across her skin. But something in his voice, perhaps his sincerity or the affection that lay beneath his words – it made Rebecca nervous. The type of nervous that sends butterflies fluttering around your stomach. What's more, she knew exactly why she got so anxious around Felix; because she still couldn't believe that he cared about her. Despite living in a medieval fantasy land, millennia behind her own world, he was the type of guy that she knew well. Douches and dickheads didn't age, it seemed. And the sudden intensification of his feelings for her only made Rebecca suspicious, scared that he would turn around with that stupid smirk and laugh at her for believing him.

Instead of freezing, she got to her feet instead.

"Where are you off to?" he whined, catching onto her trousers and tugging her back toward him. Rebecca revelled in the sight of the young blonde reaching out for her, his sunkissed skin glowing bronze in the firelight.

"To the toilet." She smiled softly and pulled her hand from his grasp as Felix made a grimace.

"Ew. Make sure you wipe," he snorted. Rebecca flashed him a grin as she dissolved into the shadows of the woodland. It wasn't long before she was out of sight of the camp, the fire just a glowing ball of light in the distance.

She ducked behind a pine for good measure. She wouldn't put it past Felix to sneak up behind her and tackle her in the dark with her trousers down, just for laughs.

Rebecca froze as she heard a twig snap behind her. It felt as loud as a foghorn in the silent forest, and made her heart race with fear.

"Felix?" she called, hoping desperately to hear his familiar snigger in the darkness. But she knew in her heart that if it had been Felix behind her, she would never have heard him coming. She pulled up her pants, turning slowly on the spot to confront the noise, quietly cursing herself for not bringing a dagger into the forest at night.

She gave a squeak that was silenced by a thick hand that clamped the sides of her jaw and pressed down on her lips. She tasted salt and the faint tang of iron as fur-clad bodies materialised in front of her. Rebecca's eyes widened at the sight of a soft, glowing light embedded in the chest of one of the figures, great antlers protruding from his headdress. A wicked grin twitched across his lips, as the others broke into smiles, winking at her from the shadows.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN:** **RAPE/NON-CON WARNING**

Apologies for the pause in writing...it was partly in due to being a little conflicted about this chapter, but here it is. There's an asterisk (*) where the scene ends if you'd rather not read it x For any of you who do, and dislike it, I can only apologise - it wasn't fun to write, but it is a necessary plot point, and unfortunately, a fact of life. In fact, it's probably the most realistic thing to happen so far, particularly in a setting such as Skyrim.

The Briarheart leaned right up to her face, leaving Rebecca to stare at the whites of his eyes, frozen by terror. She flinched as he pressed his nose into her neck, just as Felix had only moments before. But this time the nerves coursing through her were not the romantic kind. She couldn't help but let out a muffled gasp as he took a long sniff, like a predator sizing up his prey. His eyes certainly looked hungry.

"This one will do." His voice was deep and filled with malice. The other men chuckled around him, licking their lips as their eyes explored her quivering body. The Briarheart took a sudden step toward her, pressing his hips into hers so that she could feel the outline of his manhood straining against his leather pants. Rebecca turned her head away from him and into the beard of the man behind her, squeezing her eyes tight shut. She didn't want to see the Briarheart's teeth, his wild, roaming eyes, or feel him against her skin.

Cold lips brushed her jawline, stubble scratching her neck. "If you try anything funny," he growled. "You'll be dead so quick, they won't ever hear you scream. Got that?"

Rebecca nodded, a single tear carving its way down her cheek. She gave a yelp as more hands appeared from the shadows and groped at her legs, slinging her over a muscled shoulder like a piece of meat. Although her mouth was no longer covered, she still felt the presence of the hand like a warning, keeping her silenced out of fear.

Branches scratched at her arms and face as she was carried through the forest, her eyes slowly adjusting in the moonlight until she could make out the tip of a tent behind the tree trunks. The Forsworn were even bold enough to walk the edge of the forest, within view of her camp. Rebecca's heart jumped as she caught sight of Felix, sitting by the fire where she had left him.

"Felix!" she screamed. She opened her mouth to yell again, but was thrown against the ground, knocking the breath out of her. Dots appeared across her vision as her captors bent down to laugh at her. This time, they gagged her with a ball of rags and a tight leather strip before hoisting her back onto the strongest man of the group. Rebecca's heart fell through her stomach as she regained her sight. Felix hadn't even stirred. Upon closer inspection, in fact, it looked as though he had fallen asleep. She even heard him snoring soundly as the Forsworn carried her behind the tents, barely a metre away from the log he was rested against. They sniggered at her as she flailed her arms and screeched madly from underneath the gag in vain.

They didn't walk far - down the hill they had climbed earlier than evening, before reaching a cave marked by pigs heads atop a sharp set of pikes. Rebecca was still wriggling manically, though her strength was fading, as the adrenaline of her kidnapping wore off. Her muscles were already aching from the day's journey, she had no weapons, and her captors were all broad-shouldered Forsworn. They knew this land better than she did, there was nowhere for her to run except back to camp, where she would bring the vicious barbarians to her comrades, unprepared and asleep. Her mind continued to whirl with panicked ideas and routes of escape as they carried her further and further underground. Eventually, the tunnel opened into a large cave, with a high roof and torches lining every wall. Beds lay in a circle around the outside, with a big table covered with food adorning the centre of the room.

They dropped her unceremoniously into a chair, binding her hands behind her back as the Briarheart stepped forward and removed her gag. For the first time, she was able to see each of her captors, feeling her hopes plummet at the sight of them standing in the light. There were five men including their leader, all huge, broad figures with gleaming muscles and intricate tattoos. Realising quickly that escape was unlikely, Rebecca switched tact.

"You don't want to kill me, you know," she looked up at the Briarheart. "I'm the Dragonborn, you could ransom me off to the highest bidder and gain much more than my dead body ever would. Ulfric Stormcloak, he would pay a pretty price to have me in his debt!" she declared, her eyes flitting between each of the men behind him. The Briarheart let out a sudden high-pitched cackle that made her jump.

"You?" he giggled. "The Dragonborn?" There were almost tears in his dark eyes as he loomed over her, with that devilish grin. "And I'm the Emperor."

The men around him broke into a chorus of rumbling laughter. Their leader dropped into a squat, his eyes like pits of pure evil that bore into her own. She struggled on her perch as the leather gag appeared again. She was just forming the letter 'f' before the ball of rags was stuffed into her mouth.

"But don't worry Dragonborn." the Briarheart reached out a hand to stroke the side of her face. "We're not going to kill you." Rebecca's eyes began to brim with tears, despite her resolve, as she put the pieces together. She wanted to be brave, like Angmar in front of Madanach, quick like Felix, or smart like Feraldur. Most of all, she wanted to be dignified, like T'ariq. But all that she could manage was to keep the sobs at bay, lowering her head so that her captors wouldn't see the tears as her cheeks burned with shame.

She was so focused that she barely reacted when two of the bigger Forsworn lifted her from the chair, painfully twisting her arms so that they could work around the bonds. She shut her eyes, like a child wishing the monsters away in a bad dream, hoping against all hope that she would wake up any moment and be safe in bed, at home in London. Or at least for Felix to come barging in the cave and to carry her back to safety. A clattering sounded below her as the plates and pots were cleared from the table. A moment later she was thrown onto it, letting out a muffled yelp as she landed on something sharp. She was forced to open her eyes, looking down to see the prongs of a fork drawing little drops of crimson from her calf.

"Oh, poor little thing!" the Briarheart stalked around the table, eyeing her heaving chest and the fearful gleam in her eyes. He moved painstakingly slowly, removing the fork with an unexpectedly tender touch. His cold hands moved under her trouser, tracing patterns on her skin with his calloused fingers. He watched in glee as Rebecca looked away, staring up at the ceiling above her. Trying to look anywhere other than at him.

He turned his attention back to the small patch of blood on her trousers, running his hands over the rough material almost lovingly. "Let's get this out of the way, shall we?" he sighed. "Hold her down."

Rebecca's eyes flared in panic as she made a move to kick the Forsworn that approached the table. Her meaty friend behind, however, grabbed her bound hands and placed immense pressure on her wrists, causing her to cry out as another two grabbed an ankle each and smacked them down on the wood.

"Nurh!" she sobbed, pleading through the gag as the tears began to flow freely. "Pleej!"

With a glance from his leader, the big boy behind her tightened the gag around her face until the leather cut into the sides of her cheeks. Her screeching was now almost totally smothered as the Briarheart picked up a knife from the table. He stepped up on top of the table and lay his knees either side of her. His pointed teeth shone in the darkness as he smiled at her, dropping down to caress the side of her face as Rebecca struggled to turn away.

"Sshh," he hushed her, his voice barely a whisper. His breath was hot against her trembling skin, and she could feel every muscle on his legs as he leaned into her. Her screech fell to a pitiful whimper. "That's better," he cooed. "Now try not to move, ok? We wouldn't want any more bleeding, would we?" Rebecca shook her head ever so slightly, refusing to open her eyes as he planted a gentle kiss against her neck.

She flinched as she felt the cold, sharp blade of the knife rest against her stomach. The fabric around her waist tightened, followed by the ripping sound of the cloth as he cut her tunic open. She felt the cold air hit her breasts and began to weep, her chest racked with sobs. The men around her chuckled and scoffed, and although the grip on her limbs had loosened, she was now pinned down by the Briarheart, his core glowing on her pale skin in the dark of the cave.

"Not bad, eh boys?" he shouted as the others cheered, making her wince and squeeze her eyes tighter. She couldn't force herself to look, she couldn't force herself to watch as he yanked down her trousers and another round of howling laughter commenced. Rebecca could feel him moving above her, lowering himself into position as his breath pooled on her neck once more, the horrible musk of sweat and blood assaulting her senses as he removed his headdress.

"Oh, baby," he groaned, as though lovesick, planting kisses down the side of her face. "Won't you even look at me?"

Rebecca shook her head, her body shaking as her heartbeat raced. She could hear the blood roaring in her ears but despite how close his torso was against her chest, there was no heartbeat to be heard, nothing except the soft ringing of the amber monstrosity.

"No?" he asked. She shook her head again, her lips pressed tightly together. She heard him sigh, her vision still dark and watery. "What a shame."

Rebecca gasped sharply when he penetrated her. Her eyelids flew open and found that cold, dead grin glowing at her triumphantly, her vision muddied by the tears. She let out an agonised cry as he slammed himself inside of her again, those black stones mercilessly watching her face contort in pain. He began grunting as his lips moved down to her breasts, keeping his body low enough that she couldn't struggle. Rebecca's cry rose to a bloodcurdling scream as he violated her, pushing himself deeper with each thrust until she felt that she was being ripped apart from the inside. The man behind her dared to join in, running his fingers over her skin and groping at her chest whenever his leader paused for breath, until they all had a hand on her, desecrating her body as her screaming filled the cave.

As her walls adjusted and the pain fell from a stabbing into an ache, she imagined her companions appearing from the tunnel, swords drawn as they ran to slaughter the Forsworn with ferocious battle cries. She strained her hearing for the slightest sounds past the grunting of the men around her, convincing herself that the tumble of a rock or echo in the cave was them, just around the corner, only a moment away…

But they weren't there. No one would save her, Rebecca realised, finally opening her eyes as her head lolled in time with the Briarheart's rhythm. The fear dissolved in her soft green gaze, and was replaced by something harder, something numb and impenetrable. This wasn't the fantasy world of Skyrim, it wasn't a dream or a nightmare, she told herself. This was reality. And in reality, the heroes didn't save the damsel in distress.

The Briarheart moaned as he slowed to a stop, shooting his vile seed inside of her with a gasp. Rebecca had stopped crying now, and was staring, unblinking, at the wall by the side of the table.

"There we go!" he panted. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

She gave no answer, her head still turned away from him as he stood up with groan.

"Untie her." The goon at the head of the table moved around to her side, removing her gag, wet with her tears and choking, and then the leather strips around her hands. Still she did not move.

"Is it our turn now?" a different voice, dripping with lust, sounded from the other end. A moment later the slap of skin against skin sounded, as someone dropped to the ground with a cry. "No, you pathetic mongrel!" the Briarheart barked.

The Forsworn nearest Rebecca rushed over to help up the other man, and took her attention with him. She looked up for the first time to see the Briarheart glaring down the others, gathered in a perfect huddle opposite her. Rebecca felt the grips on her ankles release completely as they fell about shouting at each other. She saw her opportunity and took a deep breath, sitting up on her elbows as her roar filled the cave.

 ***** " **Fus, Ro Dah!** " *****

The Forsworn went flying to the back wall, smacking against the rock with a wet thud before they fell to the dusty ground. Rebecca watched them bleed, her gaze devoid of feeling. She got to her feet, wobbling a little at the ache in her thighs. But her aggressors remained on the ground, motionless.

Rebecca grabbed a knife that had been thrown to the floor in the madness, walking over to her captors and crouching to inspect their bodies. All of them had dark red gashes on the bases of their neck, some bones snapped at weird angles as the life oozed from them and mingled with the earth. Her head turned at the sound of a weak moan of pain. At the end of the line was the Briarheart, slumped against the side of the cave, his nude torso speckled with blood. He looked up as Rebecca crawled towards him, a rush of pure hatred burning through her as he opened those beady, little eyes. To her satisfaction, she saw fear there, lurking behind the cloud of pain. His hand twitched in her peripheral, and made her jerk into action on instinct.

Rebecca raised the knife high above him and sunk it deep into his chest. The Briarheart jerked forward, his lips forming a silent scream of pain as he watched her. She did it again, plunging the steel through him and feeling his hot blood spatter her face as she ripped the blade out. The light faded from those eyes, those windows of hell, as she stabbed him over, and over, and over again, until eventually she fell to the ground beside him with a sob, feeling the tears and the pain and the fury rush back all in one and consume her.

When Rebecca got to her feet, it felt as though years had passed. She wiped the blood from her skin as best she could and found a goat hide on the ground. Wrapping it around her quaking body, she walked on frozen feet back up the tunnel, until the white moonlight shone again on the ground. She almost wanted to kiss the grass beneath her, but was too exhausted, knowing that if she crouched again she would stay down forever.

"Rebecca!"

A fresh sob arose in her throat as she heard T'ariq's familiar raspy call, tinged with panic in the night. She wanted to cry again, but she was all dried up, and her throat was too hoarse to call back. So instead she stumbled toward the sound, swerving abruptly whenever he would yell again from a different position. Rebecca found him in the forest, croaking out a greeting as he whipped around, his amber eyes glowing with horror at the sight of her.

T'ariq ran forward to catch her as she collapsed, the blood rushing to her head and overwhelming her when she tried to take a step towards him.

"What have they done to you?" he rasped, bending a knee to rest her against. His eyes were brimming with concern that would've warmed her heart if she wasn't suddenly overcome with shame. How on earth could she tell him? How would she ever put down in words what had transpired in that cave, to anyone?

T'ariq saw the tears form on the tips of her lashes, and pulled her into a tight hug, stroking her hair. She cried into his shoulder as he picked her up with a grunt, rocking her frail, crumpled body in his arms as they headed back to camp.

When they broke through the trees, they found the others waiting with expressions of terror that turned to short-lived joy at the sight of her return. Feraldur rushed to fetch her travelling cloak and a spare dress, practically throwing them at her as Rebecca slipped into the clothes underneath the hide. They felt so clean on her, so white and stainless on her bruised body.

"Where in Oblivion were you?" Angmar asked as she sat down by the fire. She could feel Felix staring at her but couldn't bear to look at him, taking a moment before she responded.

"Forsworn," was all she could manage. The others were silent as they began to put the pieces together. Felix cursed and got to his feet in a rush of rage.

"I'll kill them, every last one!" he swore.

Rebecca shook her head. "No need," she told him, staring into the flames. "They're all dead."


	20. Chapter 20

That night Rebecca didn't sleep, and instead spent the hours left until sunrise watching over the campsite through the crack in her tent. They had left Angmar on guard, and though he stayed vigilant for his shift, she knew she wouldn't have been able to trust anyone to look after her after the horrors she had endured that night. As soon as the first rays of the sun peeked out from behind the mountain tops, she threw the canvas fabric of her tent aside and emerged, armoured up and her hair tied back with a piece of string she had found. Angmar looked surprised to see her awake and active so early, and gave an awkward grunt of greeting as she set about preparing their breakfast.

"How did you uh…" Angmar cleared his throat. "How did you sleep?" he asked, tentatively.

"Fine." Rebecca lied, throwing some chicken in the stew she was brewing. She saw Angmar nod out of the corner of her eye. She could practically feel the way he sat stiffly, the way his eyes shifted around to look anywhere other than at her. She couldn't bear it, and when he cleared his throat again to speak, she raised a hand to silence him.

"It's ok, Angmar."

There was a moment of silence before the Reachman got to his feet, drawing her gaze toward him and finding his ice blue eyes brimming with guilt. It softened her a little, to see him so visibly cut up. After all, it certainly wasn't his fault. Rebecca couldn't help but tense as her mind flashed back to her outstretched arms, her muffled screams, and the image of Felix by the fireside, asleep.

"I was just going to say," Angmar sighed, snapping her back to reality. "That if there's anything I can do to help, let me know."

Rebecca was shaking her head when a thought popped into mind.

"Actually, there is." she stopped stirring the pot and attempted a weak smile. It didn't come out quite right, and Angmar's face only fell further as the girl in front of him achieved a sort of broken grimace, with her split lip and the deep purple shiner that was emerging on her right cheek.

"Teach me to fight." Rebecca said simply, her blank eyes awaiting his answer as the Reachman blinked once. She had expected another awkward shifting of feet, maybe a patronising laugh or a shake of the head. But Angmar only nodded. "Done." he said.

The morning rays glinted off their steel, which sang as they met, slicing through the air. One by one, the company rose from their slumber, awoken by the sounds of Angmar and Rebecca sparring, running through a set of motions and viciously jabbing and lunging at each other. She should've grown tired, especially the way her muscles ached after last night, the way her thighs groaned at her with every step and stretch. But something had changed in Rebecca's disposition, in her mind and in the way she held herself, and she had known it would from the moment those cold black eyes grinned at her in the torchlight. Never would she allow herself to be weak like that again, and if that meant a bruise, a torn ligament, an ache in her limbs; it mattered not.

"By the eight!"

Rebecca froze just as Angmar was bringing his sword down above her. He stumbled to the side to avoid slicing her in half, as Felix crawled out of his tent, fingers in his ears.

"What's all this racket about?" he grumbled, glancing bemusedly at the pair before reaching to pour himself a bowl of stew. Rebecca stared at him a moment too long, before reaching into her bag and handing each of the company a mouthful of stale bread as they sat down to eat. Angmar wiped the sweat from his forehead as he accepted his piece with a nod.

"That was a good start." he told her. "You're fast, you should use that."

But despite his encouragement, Rebecca couldn't help but feel a little disappointed in their practice. Angmar was surely going easy on her, and even then she could hardly dodge any of his blows, and didn't have the strength to block them. Her determination would be put to the test after all, it seemed.

"So," Feraldur cleared his throat awkwardly, as the group ate in silence. "We need to find an Elder Scroll?" he recapped.

Rebecca nodded as she dipped her bread into the stew half-heartedly, hardly able to eat more than a bite or two. "In Winterhold."

"You know it's location?" Feraldur asked, clearly taken aback.

"Yes." Rebecca answered simply.

"Ok," Felix chirped. "So we follow the road to Windhelm straight through the plains…" he snorted as he calculated the distance in his head. "Hardly more than a stroll."

"Or we could follow the northern road, and stop for the night in Solitude," T'ariq suggested. He shot Rebecca a meaningful look, adding, "This one thinks we should be quit of the Reach sooner rather than later."

Rebecca shivered at the thought of spending another night in the shadow of countless Forsworn redoubts and bluffs. It didn't matter that the ones responsible were all dead - those pelted, skin-wearing savages all shared the same wicked grin in her nightmares.

"Not to mention some of us are wanted criminals." Angmar attempted a chuckle as they finished up their breakfast and set about packing up their camp.

"And we're running out of money." Felix added, jingling the few measly coins they had left in a drawstring purse with a miserable pout on his face. "We might have to help some old nobleman find his lost daughter or something along the way."

Rebecca racked her brains for simple and easy quests around Haafingar that would reward them with a fair bit of coin. "Honestly, we can afford to spend a few days in Solitude. If the Altmer Dragonborn follows the standard quest line, then she's got a long way to go before she even thinks about an elder scroll."

"Then it's settled." said T'ariq. "We go north to Solitude."

A beautiful, late summer's day bloomed around the company as they hiked through the Reach. Everywhere birds sang and the breeze stirred the juniper berries, hanging ripe and heavy on branches that overhung the paths. But though the other's spirits seemed to lift, Rebecca's heart was impenetrable. Neither the rushing river, nor the sun that made the cobblestones gleam beneath them could lift the veil of fear on her perspective. Instead of sloping hills and willow trees, she saw ambush spots, shadows behind which an antlered headdress seemed to materialise in the corners of her vision. Gripping the hilt of her sword, she did her best to ignore them, and keep her eyes fixed on the road.

It wasn't long before the towering peaks spread out and formed the winding mountain roads that Rebecca recognised as typical of Haafingar. They were almost in sight of Dragon Bridge when T'ariq dropped into a crouch, his ears pricked. Instinctively, the group came to a halt, and followed orders as he gestured for them to hug the edge of the road. Rebecca's ears strained to pick up snippets of conversation, carried around the corner by the wind.

"No, you yellow-bellied fool!" a gruff voice bellowed. "All we have to do is wait here for travellers. When they show up, we ask them for a toll and if they don't pay, you run them through! What don't you understand?"

Rebecca watched Felix shoot Angmar a look of dry amusement. T'ariq visibly relaxed at the front of the group, and, with an advisory glance of caution to those behind him, stood up. What awaited them around the corner was a pair of would-be Imperial soldiers, a well-built orc and a scrawny Nord. As they caught sight of the gang and scrambled to appear presentable in their ill-fitting uniforms, it occurred to Rebecca that they could've guessed the game even without having heard their plans.

"You there, halt!" The orc placed a hand out to stop them, clearing his throat. "This here's a toll point. You have to pay for entry to Haafingar."

"Yeah, right." Angmar laughed.

"C'mon buddy," Felix smirked. "We both know this is a hold-up."

The orc seemed to double in size, squaring his shoulders as he locked eyes with the Imperial, clearly incensed. The Nord behind him, by contrast, shrank beneath his cuirass. Rebecca half expected him to bolt.

"The toll is five hundred gold," growled the orc, ignoring Angmar's snort of disbelief. "Either pay it with gold, or blood."

 _Christ_ , Rebecca thought. _This one must be fresh out the stronghold_. She saw him place a hand threateningly on a war axe strapped to his side. She edged past Feraldur to the front of the group.

"Or, we talk to your..superiors, up there," she pointed over his shoulder, where a guard cloaked in red was patrolling along the Dragon Bridge, not far from them. "They can tell us if this 'toll' is legitimate."

The orc bared his fang-like teeth, in something akin to a monstrous grin. "You won't make it three feet!" he roared. In one motion he whipped out his axe and raised it high over her head. Rebecca was just quick enough to block it with her sword, leaving the two locked in a battle of might as the Nord took one look at the company and ran. But Rebecca's arms were trembling with the struggle of keeping this hulking bandit at bay. She caught a whiff of the tang of iron as his weapon inched closer to her face. Just as she felt her sword arm give out, the green-skinned monster gave a deep groan and fell backwards. Angmar had swung his warhammer into the orc's side, and was looming over him to finish the job. But Rebecca was faster. Without thinking, she plunged her sword through his leather chest plate and watched as the light faded from his eyes. He stared up at her in an expression of eternal distress, as his body gave a sigh and sunk against the ground.

Rebecca placed one foot on his uniform and retrieved her sword from his corpse, spotting streaks of blood and sinew on the steel before she returned it to its sheath. When she returned to the group she saw equal looks of concern and shock in her comrades eyes, but ignored them, handing the gold she'd pocketed from the bandit to T'ariq for safe-keeping. And without another word, Rebecca turned on her heel and headed down the path towards the legendary Dragon Bridge, its stony, fanged face peering through the trees at her. She was already on the bridge, watching the silhouette of Solitude rise in the distance, before she realised why. That was the first person they had seen her kill. Perhaps they thought it _was_ her first kill. But the truth was far from their understanding. With a little jolt, Rebecca realised that she'd lost count of the lives she had claimed since being dropped in this cold, barren country. There had been the bandit at Valtheim, and the Forsworn in that wretched cave…and now an orc. When had she become this unfeeling murderess, she wondered?

"When each of them raised a blade against me, that's when." she murmured, under her breath. She tried to imagine what her mother would have thought, what her friends at uni would think about her kill count, as the look of despair on the orc's brow swam up in her mind's eye.

"So."

T'ariq appeared at her side as they passed the Pentius Oculatus outpost. Rebecca tried not to meet his eyes, hoping he could tell that now was not the time for probing questions.

"Do you know anywhere around here that we could earn some coin?" he asked, lowering his voice and casting a furtive glance at Feraldur just in front of them. Rebecca was quiet for a moment. "I suppose there's the Wolf Queen quest. It's not exactly easy money, but with the five of us it shouldn't be too bad."

T'ariq wrinkled his nose. "Wolf Queen? This one is not too sure."

Rebecca managed a half-smile. "No, it's nothing to do with wolves. More to do with summoning the spirits of evil monarchs past, and a whole lot of draugr. But there's some good coin involved."

A little boy in a blue tunic peered at the pair from behind his mother, giggling shyly. His eyes followed them up the hill and into the heart of Haafingar. The trees began to clear to their right, giving them a glimpse of the point where the Karth River merged with the Sea of Ghosts, beneath the rocky outcrop on which the Blue Palace was perched. The clanging of a bell rang up from the docks, and as the angle of their ascent increased, the faint aroma of horses and hay bid them welcome to the great city of Solitude. Giant, stone grey arches caught the light of the setting sun behind them, the great gates unguarded on the fateful day of their arrival.

Rebecca considered warning her companions about the scene that awaited them inside, but wasn't sure what good it would do. In the end, Felix entered before she could've said anything anyway, heaving open the great steely gates and recoiling with surprise as he nearly flattened a few middle-aged maidens.

"What's going on here?" he asked, drawing closer to the group as he took in the crowd gathering before them. He was on his tiptoes, trying to see above the bodies.

"A man called Roggvir is being executed for allowing Ulfric into the city." Rebecca explained wearily. Felix stopped straining as two men appeared on the raised platform before them, one in Solitude uniform and the other, a broad man with sandy blonde hair, in rags. A wave of murmuring broke out as he was lead, dejectedly toward the block. The atmosphere among the crowd was palpably spiteful - it seemed to Rebecca that not one face amongst them had an ounce of pity to spare the dying man. There were scathing whispers from behind. One elderly lady at the front spat on the cobbled platform in disgust.

"And…Ulfric was the one who murdered the High King, right?" Felix had appeared beside Rebecca, and bent down to whisper in her ear. She nodded curtly, shuffling a little further away. Felix glanced at her suspiciously, noticing her discomfort. But he said nothing.

"There was no murder!" Roggvir seemed to hear Felix, and all the furtive conversations from the crowd below him. "Ulfric challenged Torygg. He beat the High King in fair combat."

Rebecca was surprised at the dignity with which he held his head high, chin jutting out as if in defiance, even as the people of Solitude condemned him with their scornful protests. He refused the help of the nearby guard, lowing himself beside the block and bowing his head. Rebecca just caught his last words over the jeering of the townsfolk.

"On this day, I go to Sovngarde."

The headman's axe sliced through the air. There was a sickly crack as metal met bone, and Roggvir was no more. His head rolled off the block and onto the platform. The crowd seemed dissatisfied, muttering their dissent and slinking back into the shadows as the first stars shone in the darkening sky, winking down at the Nord's dead body.


	21. Chapter 21

They spent the night at the Winking Skeever, ignoring the curiosity they had conjured in the townsfolk and how all eyes followed them across the inn. Instead they headed straight up to bed, exhausted after a long day of travelling and emotional tension.

Nobody had spoken much after the execution, and nobody spoke much the next morning either. After a breakfast of honey, nuts and berry bowls, however, their spirits began to lift. They were in Solitude after all. The cosmopolitan heart of Skyrim, the lap of luxury right at the foot of the empire. And, perhaps, one of the first places that the crew felt relatively at ease. A company consisting of an Altmer, Imperial, Khajiit and Reachman could rarely fit in elsewhere.

After paying for their food and lodgings, they took the morning off to wander around the town, enjoying the coloured decorations strung between the buildings, the birds soaring overhead and children playing in the streets. It was quite the contrast to the snoozy feel of Ivarstead, or the tall, bleak walls of Windhelm.

For the first time in a long time, Rebecca had occasion to lay down her armour, and pick up the dress that T'ariq had bought her in Riverwood. It felt like so long ago, their time in Whiterun hold. It was odd now, to be on the other side of the country, and to feel linen caressing her calves instead of steel chafing at her heels.

T'ariq and Angmar set about selling what few trinkets and weapons they had collected from their journey at Bits Pieces, whilst Feraldur dropped in on a few 'acquaintances' at the Blue Palace. Rebecca found herself wondering whether he meant Sybille the secret vampire, or Melaran the haughty housecarl. She was left to ponder their gold-skinned friend's mysterious life alongside Felix, who accompanied her through the market that bright morning.

"How're you feeling?"

Rebecca didn't have to look at Felix to know that he was watching her with a nervous intensity. It seemed to be a permanent feature in his eyes these days, as though he were worried that a strong gust of wind might topple her. She tried a gentle smile to reassure him as she nodded, her gaze falling on a pair of earrings at a stall in front of them. It had been so long since she'd worn anything like these.

"You look really nice in that dress." he tried.

Rebecca smiled weakly.

"Thanks." She wanted to feel nice, but for some reason she felt more like she was playing dress-up, pretending. Like it didn't belong on her body anymore.

"You like them?" Felix came around to stand beside her, hooking an earring around one finger.

"Argonian craftsmanship," the stall keeper told them eagerly. "Finest silver and only flawless gems. Real beautiful piece, that."

Felix held it up to his ear. "What d'you think?" he asked, batting his eyelashes. Rebecca managed a genuine smile this time, shaking her head. "I'll buy it for you." he announced suddenly, to her surprise. She shook her head, taking the earring from him and placing it gently back in its velvet perch. "With what money?" she chuckled.

The words were barely out of her mouth before she gave a gasp and practically jumped. Something had slid around her side, someone had tried to-  
She looked up, wide-eyed and panting, to find Felix standing frozen in shock, his arm extended.  
"I'm sorry, I just-"  
"It's fine." he sighed, looking disappointed. There was a moment of awkward silence between them. She was still searching for the right words when he turned away from her, his shoulders a little more stooped than before. "C'mon," he called over his shoulder, beginning to walk away. "T'ariq and the others are probably waiting for us."

The walk down the street to the Blue Palace was rather surreal. Especially for a company that had spent much of the last few weeks camping in the wilderness. The buildings either side of them were two, three stories high, and colourful flowers lined the path. The Palace towered into the sky but was not imposing - it was grand, not unlike Georgian and Victorian palaces in England, Rebecca thought. Especially with the neatly-kept hedges in the botanical gardens.

The guard cast them a wary glance, but allowed them in. In the foyer, the pair met with T'ariq and Angmar, who told them that Feraldur had once again vanished. Deciding to go on without him, they climbed the stairs to the main court, waiting politely behind the steward until he had finished his discussion with Erikur.  
"The company of the Dragonborn requests an audience with Jarl Elisif." Rebecca announced, doing her best to sound confident. Falk Firebeard tore his eyes away from the ethnically diverse boyband that had just walked in, and looked down at Rebecca, who was painfully aware of how short she seemed in a room full of Nords and monarchs.

"The company of -" Falk blinked. "And which of you claims to be the Dragonborn?"

"Um," Rebecca cleared her throat. "That would be me."

Falk stared at her until she went red, evidently trying to decide whether this was some kind of joke or not. Eventually he just sighed, rubbing his temples.  
"Sure, uh…just go ahead." said Falk, stepping aside.

The crew shuffled nervously to the throne, where Elisif the Fair, who looked much more stunningly beautiful in person, was sat. Rebecca couldn't decide whether Elisif's stiff, upright position on her throne portrayed a lack of confidence or authority, but the decision was made for her when the High Queen spoke.  
"Falk, did you authorise this audience?"

Her voice was high-pitched and strung with tension. Her eyes couldn't stay too long on one face, and she kept looking between them and her steward, like a child and parent. Falk nodded.

"She claims to be the Dragonborn, your majesty."  
Rebecca rolled her eyes at the vote of confidence in their introduction. But Elisif seemed not to have heard the dry edge in his tone. She turned to Rebecca, her eyes shining with admiration.

"So, it's you." she smiled, her face softening. "I've heard all about you, Dragonborn. On behalf of Haafingar, I welcome you to Solitude. What can I do for you?"  
Rebecca and the group were rather taken aback by such a reception, and exchanged glances of surprise. "Ah, of course." Rebecca felt her cheeks turn beetroot as a murmuring broke out amongst the court. "Well," she tried her best to puff out her chest. "I thought we should offer you our services, your majesty. Is there..anything you need doing?"

Rebecca felt unbelievably stupid, standing in front of the High Queen of Skyrim just to say hi. Should she be kneeling? Did she sound grown up enough? She should've got T'ariq to speak. But Elisif just smiled her benign smile and nodded thoughtfully.

"How kind of you. Well, we've heard some troubling things about Wolfskull cave, but I believe Falk has taken care of that. There are the bandits at Dragon Bridge Overlook…but, if you're looking to become a thane, there is a more…personal task I need handling."

They left the palace with much heavier pockets than they had entered, and the esteem of the Jarl lifting their chins. Elisif had wanted them to place her husband Torygg's war horn at a secret shrine of Talos. Since Rebecca distinctly remembered this shrine being in Whiterun hold, and requiring a long trek across the plains, she convinced her to pay them in advance, with the promise that they would attend to the quest when they next found themselves in he country. Quests for queens proved to be well-funded, and the jingle in their purses put more of a spring in the group step as they walked along the sunny Solitude road.

"So what's this about Wolfskull cave?" Felix asked. Rebecca opened her mouth to reply, but paused as an unfamiliar face approached, a man with black hair and his head bowed. As he passed he turned his head just enough that Rebecca locked onto a pair of startlingly blue eyes, cold as a draugr's, before he looked away and was gone. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to watch as he disappeared inside the Palace.

"I mean, why are we still going?" Felix added, taking her silence for confusion. "Sounds like they got it covered."

Rebecca shook her head as they turned into the main square. "Falk doesn't think it needs tending to. His 'taking care' of it just means ignoring the problem."

She was saved from explaining how she knew this by Feraldur's sudden reappearance by their side. Felix whirled around instantly to face him.

"Oh, ladies and gentlemen, mer and man, he has returned!" Felix declared, raising his hands to the sky and raising several eyebrows in the market. Feraldur lowered his head in embarrassment. "The international elf of mystery has returned! Where were you this time, elf? Off to see a secret lover?" he gave the mer a nudge in the ribs that made poor Feraldur trip on his feet. He seemed too shy to speak, so Rebecca shot Felix a look that told him to close that yappy mouth of his. But her own interest was piqued, and she attempted to cast her mind back to the court in attendance at the Blue Palace. Hadn't Sybille Stentor been missing..?

They spent the rest of the day running about the city doing every possible quest to earn some more fast cash. By the time they'd regrouped in the Winking Skeever, T'ariq had told so many families about dead relatives that he had rather lost his appetite, and had nothing but a piece of bread for supper. By contrast, Angmar had made several friends around the city, and sat down to a dinner of spiced wine in a rather fashionable set of Radiant Raiment robes.

The evening passed along to the tune of Lisette's ode to the Imperials, and, after a request from a slightly tipsy Angmar, 'the Dragonborn Comes'. When Angmar returned to their table after attempting, and failing, to woo the bard, they sat down to discuss their plan of action for tomorrow.

"So we have to kill a Wolf Queen?"

"No, just a lot of Draugr and some necromancers. If anyone's a particularly good shot, we should go straight for the Ritual Master. No point messing around if they're trying to summon Potema." Rebecca informed them, sipping on some of Angmar's spiced wine.

"They're trying to summon Potema?" Feraldur practically spat on his drink.

"Pardon me for asshking, Dragonborn," Angmar slurred. "But how do you know all of thissh?"

Felix laughed, and Rebecca smirked at the Reachman, blinking slowly across the table from her. "Because I'm magic, Angmar." she told him, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I must admit," Feraldur tipped his head to the side and gave Rebecca a long look. "I am curious myself. You seem to have a remarkable amount of foresight for someone your age. So I have to ask," he raised an eyebrow. "Are you well-versed in the art of magic?"

"Certainly not." T'ariq snorted.

Rebecca shot him a glare as he and Felix sniggered in the corner, clearly remembering her struggles back in Bleak Falls Barrow. But though his tone was light, Feraldur's inquiry was genuine, and she could see from the looks on Angmar and even Felix's faces that she wouldn't be able to worm her way out of this one without raising some questions.  
"Well…" she began, scratching her neck. She glanced at T'ariq for help, but found her confidante conveniently distracted by Lisette's lute music. She sighed, and tried to seem sincere in her response. "I guess you could say I have…visions," she decided, remembering T'ariq's explanation to Jarl Balgruuf weeks ago. "I see places and people in my dreams and I follow them. They..tend to be true. It's what brought me to Skyrim in the first place." she added, spinning the tale.

"Frum where, egshactly?" Angmar burped.  
Rebecca laughed and gave his shoulder a little push, watching as he fell back into his chair.

"That's enough questions for one night, thank you very much." she chuckled. "Besides," she turned her attention to Feraldur, watching her from behind his mug of wine. "I could ask plenty in return, mister…what was it?"

"International elf of mystery!" Felix grinned, not missing a beat.

Feraldur smiled as if in submission, and set his mug down slowly. "Very well." he seemed to decide. "What would you like to know?"

"Wait, really?" Felix asked, his mouth agape.

"Well, obviously I won't be able to speak to some of the more sensitive issues, but I'll tell you what I can." he admitted, casting a furtive green eye around the inn. The group seemed at a loss, now finally given the opportunity. T'ariq was the first to pounce.

"Why are you in Skyrim?" he asked, squinting.

Despite his promise, Feraldur immediately squirmed at the request. "Well…a lot of reasons…I suppose the long and short of it is that I was exiled from the Summerset Isles."

"Why were you exiled?" Felix jumped in.

Feraldur smiled and and ran a finger along his amulet, absentmindedly. "Can't you guess?"

"Ok then, why do you worship Talos?" Felix had evidently also had a little too much to drink, as he threw a finger in the elf's face after asking, and was leaning very far across the table.

He shrugged. "I don't see any reason to claim that men cannot ascend to Aetherius. Talos' conquests and the bloodline of the dragonborn more than qualify him for divinity. Before the Aldmeri Dominion became what they are today, they exiled me, and so I went wandering. I found out later that they amended my sentence to death on sight. So, that's why I'm wanted."

Rebecca was almost certain that there was more to his tale than this. Especially after his links to multiple other wizards and scholars suggested his connections to the college in Winterhold. Not to mention that he had admitted himself to be searching for the Dragonborn. But Felix looked satisfied, Angmar was half-asleep, and T'ariq, like herself, seemed to be too wrapped in thought to question any further. So the other half of Feraldur's story was left to another time, perhaps in a less public place, Rebecca assumed.

The others drifted off to bed one by one, until even T'ariq gave up her company and retreated to his room for the night. But Rebecca knew that no slumber awaited her amongst the downy pillows. The little sleep she'd had the night before had been punctured with nightmares and restless thoughts. She thought it would be best to wait the night out by the fireside in the bowels of the Winking Skeever. Besides, she reminded herself. She enjoyed people-watching. There was a lot to be learned about Skyrim from one night in an inn. Lisette, for example, spent most of her time trying to catch the eye of Corpulus, the innkeeper, who spent _his_ time resisting the urge to pull her into a dark corner. But when the moon was beginning its descent and the majority of the inn had cleared out or otherwise fallen asleep at their tables, she saw them sneak upstairs together with a bottle of Colovian brandy, giggling as they went. Gulum-Ei, that slimy Argonian, remained stoically seated in an alcove by himself, speaking to no-one and ordering nothing the whole night. Ahtar the headsman was strangely jovial, arriving late but never alone, buying drinks and laughing loudly with those he chose to lend his company. She wondered how any of them would react if they knew the extent of her knowledge; what lurked behind those sullen glares, the motive for their furtive movements in the shadows. It didn't matter what town you ventured to - everyone had something to hide, a fact that was true in both reality and the virtual.

Rebecca was just about to finally give in and head to bed when she spotted an intriguing figure by the bar, head bent in a vaguely familiar crook. She turned on her heel, something drawing her toward dark figure. But he must have sensed her gaze. In the time it took her to walk two steps, he had finished his drink, stood up, and walked out of the inn, letting in a cold gust of night air as he went. But not before she caught another glimpse of those icy blue eyes.


	22. Chapter 22

Rebecca rose with the sun the next day, strapping her armour on bright and early. The steel weighed on her shoulders like a comforting presence, and having her sword strapped back by her side was equally reassuring - all sense of vulnerability and fear departed as she lay a hand on its smooth hilt. Angmar had agreed to meet her up at the castle for a quick training session before they left for Wolfskull cave, so the two met by the bar before heading out. The Reachman's eyes were puffy, and he kept yawning every three feet they walked, but he was in a good mood, and was eager to talk Rebecca through some sword strategy on their way.

"Right!" Angmar turned to face her halfway across the castle courtyard. He heaved his giant warhammer off his back and dipped into a half-squat. "Are you ready?"

Rebecca put her hands up in mock surrender. "Woah there, big guy," she smirked. "What exactly am I supposed to do here?"

Angmar stood straight and lowered his hammer. "Well, I thought we could practice your strategy against two-handed enemies. You probably won't be able to fight me straight on, so you have to think on your feet," he resumed his stance. "Have a go, and then I can tell you what to work on."

Rebecca blew air through her teeth. "Sure, no problem," she muttered, sizing up the broad-shouldered warrior and his stick of death. He seemed to be waiting for her to make the first move, so she feinted on her left foot and then ducked to the right, the side without his weapon. She lunged at his hip with the flat side of her blade, but found her attempts blocked by a loud clang. Angmar had expertly manoeuvred his warhammer to his side and was holding it with one hand to keep her at bay. She locked eyes with him. The warrior flashed her a smug smile before regaining his grip. The next time she looked up, she was lying on the ground.

Angmar was laughing. "You got too close to me. If you don't keep a certain amount of distance, I can retaliate. And for someone like you, it's better to avoid any blows than attempt to block them."

Rebecca took the subtle insult on the chin and got to her feet. "Fine," she agreed, her eyes flashing with determination. "I can be quick."

Angmar saw her disposition change and readied himself again, as this time she came at him low, aiming for his shins. She got in and gave him a quick whack that failed to knock him over, shifting his weight a little instead. But before she could even think about turning, the flat end of a warhammer tapped her head. Rebecca looked up to see the same smug grin.

"Boop."

She growled and retreated out of his reach. "But how am I supposed to land a hit if I can't get near you?"

Angmar shrugged. "Be faster."

She tried again, and again, each time from a different angle and with a different strategy for her retreat. But every time she was knocked to the ground, or found the heavy head of the warhammer landing somewhere new. By the end of their session she was heaving and sweating, and Angmar was still stood in the same spot, beaming at her like he hadn't just thrown her on her arse about fifty times. The soldiers streamed out of Castle Dour as she was getting to her feet, marching past the pair with the chink of chainmail.

"Keep training like that, and your daughter's going to be a great warrior some day!"

A nearby Imperial soldier gave Angmar a pat on the back, saving a patronising smile for his 'daughter'. Rebecca was scowling so hard, she was half-surprised that the Imperial didn't spontaneously combust into flames as she grabbed her tutor and practically dragged him down the street.

They met the rest of the gang by the Winking Skeever. Felix lifted a finger, and T'ariq nearly made a comment about her wild hair and red face, but seeing that familiar glare must have put the idea out of his mind. "Shall we go?" he suggested, seeing that Rebecca was still seething at Angmar, who was having a hard time not laughing. She simply nodded and lead the charge out of Solitude.

The weather had blessed them thus far along their journey, but there was a chill in the breeze that seemed to warn that summer's end was approaching. Rebecca shivered to imagine what a real Skyrim winter would be like, if this had been its most temperate season. Not to mention that they still had the arctic regions ahead of them. She wondered if the Dragonborn could plausibly sit out on the mission to Alftand once they were in Winterhold.

Wolfskull cave was not far from the city, but the landscape took a dramatic shift as they climbed higher towards the Western mountains. They began to see their first flakes of snow, brushing the tree tops and rocky outcrops as they searched for the start of their quest. It seemed a less forgiving environment here - everyone was on their guard. Rebecca herself had vivid memories of fighting tireless ice wraiths and cave bears on these paths that kept her hand hovering near her weapon at all times.

They soon found the entrance to the cave, and Rebecca, remembering the guards posted outside, gave a flick of her hand that served as a warning to the rest of her company. But to her surprise upon rounding the corner, the skeletons she had expected to be standing in wait were lying in pieces on the ground.

"What…"

Rebecca trailed off as she spotted a single ebony arrow lying in the ground between two ribs. She pulled it from the snow and twirled it between her finger tips, feeling its smooth shaft as she stared, entranced at its colouring. She had never seen something so black.

"Somebody has been here already." T'ariq hissed, his mouth open to drink in the scents of the scene. "Somebody from the city."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow, but was not deterred. "Well we don't know who's side they're on. And we have to make sure the ritual is stopped." With only a glance at T'ariq, who nodded, they were off, wandering down the narrow tunnels as the daylight died behind them. Eventually the only light was provided by the torches hung on the walls, casting long shadows beside them and conjuring enemies behind every rock and crevice. Rebecca's sword suddenly lost its power in the dim as her paranoia returned. She realised with a start that she was once again underground with an enemy she didn't know how to fight. She was tempted to turn and run.

T'ariq must have sensed her fear. He appeared at her side, dark grey fur brushing up against her as he took the lead. Her heartbeat slowed a little to see him in front of her, tail moving steadily from side to side in anticipation of a fight. Yet they found none. The first draugr they spotted was also dead, pierced by an arrow to the undead heart. Another ebony arrow. Rebecca gave up treading softly and took on an air of irritation to cover her fear.

"Well what the fuck are we-"

"She had turned to the group to vent her frustrations, but found T'ariq's furry paw covering her mouth. His ears were twitching, and he had subconsciously dropped into a stealthier crouch, signalling to the rest of the group to follow his lead. As per usual, what their Khajiit friend had picked up on arrived within earshot a few moments later. Up ahead there were the sounds of magic being cast, spells and screeches and the whiz of an arrow through the air that silenced them all. T'ariq stood and broke into a sprint.

"Come on!" he called.

The company followed, hurrying through the twists and turns of the cave, their armour clinking and scraping against the narrow tunnels. They emerged upon a scene straight out of a Skyrim wallpaper - three draugr lay on the ground, their eyes empty as the black pits of Tartarus, accompanied by two necromancers, dark robes stained with blood. Rebecca just caught the tip of a black cape as it whipped behind a door and vanished.

Marching forward, all fear evaporating in her anger, Rebecca yelled, "Hey, you!" as she threw the door open, but found the tunnel devoid of life. Or so she thought. She shifted to make for the door and felt something thin and sharp tug at the skin on her neck. Heart in her mouth, Rebecca turned on the spot to find another black arrow - this one aimed right at her. Her eyes travelled along the ebony tip to the bowman himself. He was cloaked in shadow, but there was no mistaking the flecks of ice that glowed at her from the darkness.

"Loose it and you lose the hand." someone growled.

Rebecca blinked and Felix had appeared, a knife poised on the edge of his fingers. The rest of the crew barrelled into the tunnel, making her deeply uncomfortable as the bodies pressed against her in the darkness. She would've been hyperventilating if the arrow left enough room to breath.

Her assailant raised an eyebrow. "Just the hand?"

Felix snarled and drew his arm back as if to throw. T'ariq caught it in midair and fixed the shadowy archer in an even stare. "Don't hurt her." he said, his voice level and commanding in the quiet tunnel. To Rebecca's surprise, he relaxed his grip and lowered his bow, taking care not to accidentally scrape his hostage as he returned the arrow to its quiver.

"I don't want to." he responded, his voice just as calm. He emerged from behind the door and stepped into the light, allowing Rebecca to get a look at his face for the first time.  
Just as she'd suspected, it was the man she had seen so much of in Solitude the day before. His eyes were a shocking blue, so pale she could see why the image of the draugr had come to mind when they first crossed paths. But the rest of him was just as contrasting - he had pale skin, pale even for a Nord, and dark hair that grew long enough to fall into his eyes, across a strong brow that carried an air of cold determination. He was tall, too. The furred cloak he wore made his shoulders look as broad as Angmar's, but the strength with which he'd held his bow taut at her throat made her think it wasn't just for show. A smearing of stubble crept up along his pale skin, immersing his jaw in darkness - looking at him now, Rebecca felt as though his every feature was attempting to hide. All except for those eyes.

"I wouldn't have bothered drawing if it wasn't for all the noise you were making." he explained, tugging the leather guard on his forearm back into place. "I thought Ysgramor's 500 had returned to Skyrim."

Rebecca thought she saw a faint spark of amusement as he spoke.

"We're just here to stop the ritual." she told him, almost freezing up again when he turned his gaze on her.

"Oh, you mean that?" The archer stepped aside so that they could see the swirling lights of purple energy filling the cavern in front of them. "Yes, I'm here for that too. I've been appointed by the steward of Haafingar, so if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to finish the job."

"Wait, can't we help?"

He had made to turn away, but glanced over his shoulder as Rebecca dared to speak again.

"I work alone. And besides," he insisted, his voice cold. He glanced back at the armoured draugr patrolling down below. "This looks a little out of your range."

Felix had to be held back by T'ariq at this point, but Rebecca persisted. "If you shoot the Ritual Master, the draugr will turn on them!" she called.

The man practically flinched as her voice echoed in the tunnel. But the undead made no sign that they had heard. Irritated now, the archer turned to face her once again, walking back up the path. "Oh really?" he glared at her. "And how do you know that?"

Rebecca was searching for a plausible answer when Feraldur butted in. "It makes sense," he explained. "They're necromancers, so if the conjuration spell is broken then their followers will no longer serve them."

The archer considered this, his eyes wandering to the small black figures atop the tower on the other side of the cavern.

"If you can't make the shot, don't bother," Felix jeered. "We can take them."

The words were barely out of his mouth; in one smooth motion, the archer had set an arrow and aimed for a fraction of a second before loosing it. It shot with frightening speed in the dark, and landed right on target. Or at least, Rebecca assumed it did. The necromancers were so far away that she could hardly tell what was happening. But one of the figures seemed to collapse, and the glowing purple light escaped the cave with a rushing of wind. The group watched as, like clockwork, the draugr below turned and raced up to the tower, where the remaining conjurers seemed to be running around the tower, searching for an invisible enemy.

Felix didn't wait for the mysterious man to turn smug.

"C'mon, let's go finish them off!" he yelled, running off down the tunnel like a child, waving his swords with Angmar close behind. But the archer betrayed no signs of satisfaction in his work. He simply slotted his bow across his back, and followed the sounds of the boys chopping and smashing through flesh and bone. Those remaining exchanged mutual looks of curiosity and decided to tag along.

"Excuse me, but, who are you?" Rebecca ventured. Her interest for the man seemed to extend by the second - she was sure she had never seen him in any of her playthroughs.

"They call me the Black Arrow." he answered, stooping down to pick up a pouch of gold from one of the necromancers slain in Felix Angmar's wake.

T'ariq and Feraldur exchanged a glance.

"So…can I call you Arrow?"

The ghost of a smile appeared on his thin lips. "Sure."

"Great, cool," Rebecca nodded, a little embarrassed to be standing beside such an elite warrior in her torn up armour and battered sword. "So I take it you're thane around these parts?"

He nodded. They emerged out of the narrow paths and into the main cavern, picking up gold, arrows and supplies from the bodies as they went. The boys could still be heard battling the last few enemies above, but the Arrow was in no race to meet them, walking languidly through the ruins.

Rebecca was a little flustered by his cool and apathetic air, and found herself rambling to compensate. "Right, I thought so - see, you're probably pretty well off..us, uh, not so much. But we're trying to travel half-way across Skyrim, and we sort of took up this job to get some extra coin, if you see what I mean."

Arrow frowned. "Did Firebeard give you the job?"

"Well, no," Rebecca grinned sheepishly. "But we didn't know there was anyone else involved…Listen," she stopped and decided to switch tactics. The shadowy thane attempted to walk on, but found the persistent girl blocking his path. "I gave you the tip about the ritual master. Probably saved you a whole lot of time and effort, right?" said Rebecca with what she hoped was a winning smile.

"Fine," he conceded, his expression returning to one of stoic indifference. "We can split the reward."

At just this moment, Felix and Angmar came barrelling back down towards them, almost falling over each other in an attempt to flash their blood-stained weapons at the Black Arrow. To say that he was unimpressed would have been an understatement.

"Oh yeah, no worries," Felix panted. "No need to lift another one of your precious arrows. We got it covered."

Arrow ignored the Imperial and turned on his heel, his cloak carrying him back into the shadows. Just before he had disappeared completely, he paused, looking over his shoulder as his face was lit by a single beam from a skylight above. "I'll leave half the money with Falk. But if I run into you again, don't expect the same courtesy."

And with that he was gone, melting into the dark corners of the cave with a stealth and silence that Rebecca could only dream of possessing. He left behind a feeling of vast inferiority that threw the company into varying stages of admiration and anger that kept them talking about him long after they had returned to Solitude to collect the remains of the reward. And although Rebecca kept an eye out for him in the dimly lit patches of the pavement and the more shadowy parts of the inn, the Black Arrow was nowhere to be found. Which was just as well, seeing as they had a much more troublesome stranger to focus on in the Winking Skeever that night…


	23. Chapter 23

Rebecca and the crew were sharing a pint in the inn, cooling off from the day's adventure, as had become custom during their time in Solitude. Then _she_ walked in.

The Winking Skeever was lively for a Thursday night, the townsfolk dancing as Lisette played her drum and the barmen sang hearty Nordic tales to accompany her. The mead flowed fast and sloshed over the edges of their tankards. Everywhere there was a laugh to be had, a grin to share…except in the darkest corner by the bar. Rebecca had, in fact, been keeping an eye out for their new friend when her interest instead wandered over to this nook, to find not the Black Arrow, but a familiar Bosmer face. Her mug of ale paused half-way to her lips as she took in this sullen character, arms folded and glancing about nervously. _Hey_ …she thought to herself. _Isn't that_ -?

The door to the inn swung open and banged against the wall, prompting a glare from Corpulus at the bar, and a groan from those nearest the entrance who were hit with a blast of the frosty night air. But their eyes looked through this newest guest, pausing and then moving past as though she were nothing of particular interest. How little they knew.

Rebecca's elbow slipped off the table as she laid eyes upon a face she hadn't seen since that fateful ride to Helgen. There was no mistaking it; her duplicate had just walked into the Winking Skeever, and was striding across the floor towards the mer in the corner. So it _was_ Malborn. He gave her a glare of reproach as she sat down across him, and the two began talking in hurried whispers.

Rebecca stood up instinctively, drawing the attention of her own merry band of men.

"What's wrong?" T'ariq asked with a frown, one hand hovering over the pommel of his sword.

Rebecca didn't look away from the muttering mer as she responded. "The other Dragonborn is here."

Felix and T'ariq locked eyes and then followed Rebecca's gaze across the inn. The Altmer turned for long enough to catch the light, the flames from the torch behind her lighting a pair of bright green emeralds, and three thin scars. "Oh shit-" Felix made to lunge but for once she was faster, leaping out of reach with her fists clenched. Malborn's lips froze and his frown deepened as Rebecca approached.

"Hi, sorry to bother you, looks like a very intense conversation." She had to work hard to keep from slurring her words. The duplicate looked up in surprise, her face at once familiar and alarming to her creator. Rebecca narrowed her eyes and threw a finger in her face. "What's your name?"

The high elf blinked, her eyes almost sickeningly bright away from the fireside. "Me?" she responded. "My name is Aletheia. Why do you ask?"

She spoke with the haughty drawl typical of her kind, which would've been enough to shock Rebecca aside from the rest of this exchange. She had been half-expecting the she-devil not to speak at all - in her imagination, Aletheia had been wandering Skyrim as a silent NPC, slaying dragons and following the standard quest like a mindless automaton. Add to that the fact that she carried the very name Rebecca had given her, and her mind was spinning.

At this moment, Felix appeared, creeping up behind them with an apologetic smile on his face.

"I apologise for this one…had a bit too much mead-"

He tried to place his hands on both her shoulders but she wriggled out of his grasp, perhaps a little more violently than intended; in the struggle, she had spilled half the contents of her mug on Aletheia.

"Excuse me!" she gasped indignantly. Rebecca shot daggers at Felix, who glared back.

"Yes, yes - deepest apologies and all that." She spoke with an air, giving the mer a mocking bow. "Go back to your plotting."

"We weren't plotting anything!" Malborn insisted irritably.

"Right," Rebecca snorted, speaking over her shoulder as she was lead away by Felix. "So when the Thalmor Embassy gets hit up tomorrow, I'll tell them it definitely wasn't you!"

There was a sudden scraping of chairs that turned several heads. The beat of the drum and strumming of the lute was paused momentarily as the townsfolk searched for the source of the commotion. Aletheia was on her feet, her green eyes glinting dangerously. Rebecca noticed the steel plate armour that curved her hips and the ebony blade at her side. How did she have an ebony blade already? She was still stuck with a stupid elven sword while her fake digital counterpart had somehow procured herself the king of all blades!

It was this jealousy, along with the multiple tankards-worth of liquor in her veins that allowed Rebecca to hold her ground as the Altmer stepped forwards. She was a head and a half taller than the human girl, and was both beautiful and terrifying in the flickering light of the hearthfire, one side of her face plunged into shadow.

"So you're a spy?" she sneered, looking her up and down as though she didn't have the nerve to be so much as a scout. Rebecca scowled back.

"No, I'm not a spy. I'm a warrior." she spat, pulling several gasps from their growing audience as her spit landed on the boot of her armour. The elf gave a cold, high-pitched laugh.

"A warrior?" she cackled. "Now that _is_ funny! Tell another one, pl-"

Aletheia was denied the rest of her jeer by Rebecca's fist. The girl was proud to see that the impact made her stumble, catching herself against the table where Malborn still sat, his mouth agape. Rebecca managed a grin despite the tingling sensation spreading across her knuckles.

"I'm warning you, girl," Aletheia wiped a hand over her lip, drawing blood. "You will not win this fight."

The challenge was there, gleaming in her almond-shaped eyes. The odds were impossible - a seven foot Altmer against a scrawny girl? But Rebecca was left no option. Her pride, and now her principles were on the line. She was sick of seeing that smug twitch in the corner of her enemies lips, that grin that said, _this will be easy_.

Felix moved to pull her back but was held back by Angmar. Felix looked at him incredulously.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Angmar broke into a wide smile as Rebecca threw the first punch, missing by an inch but winning a roar of support from the tavern.

"You have so little faith." he chuckled.

Aletheia's eyes had turned to a murderous ivy as she scowled down at the girl before her. She sent a flying kick that collided with her stomach, and knocked her opponent to the ground with a breathless gasp. While she was recovering, the Altmer pulled off her gauntlets and shifted her weight, arms raised.

"She's not allowed to do that!" Rebecca cried to an invisible umpire. "You can't kick! This is a brawl!"

Aletheia offered her a hand back up. Rebecca spat again in response, this time hitting her outstretched hand. The taller woman grimaced and shook her fingers.

"You humans," she drawled. "So primitive."

Rebecca leaped off the ground with a roar, sending another fist into her cheek. She cried out as Aletheia responded in kind with an uppercut that knocked her jaw into the roof and trapped her tongue between her teeth. The next second she was on the floor, as the elf had dropped to the ground and swept her feet out from underneath her. Stars burst behind Rebecca's eyelids as her skull smacked against the stone floor. The audience gave an appreciative 'ooh' as she lay stunned for a moment.

"Get up, c'mon, get up!"

Somewhere very far away, Angmar's voice came swimming into earshot. He sounded muffled, as though buried under hundreds of pillows, but when his face appeared in her blurry vision it was only inches above her own. "You're fast!" he was saying. "Go in, pull a punch, and draw back!"

"Don't get too close," she mumbled, pulling herself up as her hearing returned with a painful ringing. "I know, I know."

She had barely been on her feet two seconds when she was greeted by another golden fist, this time meeting her nose with a sickening crunch. The audience was divided into heart cheers or gasps of fright. Something warm ran down Rebecca's chin, turning her hand red when she reached to wipe it.

"Do you concede?"

She looked up to see Aletheia's lips moving. Angrily shaking her head only made the room sway more violently, but still she managed to hook a leg around her knee and pull…and pull. But no matter how hard she yanked, the elf stood tall, immovable like a smirking, cackling oak. Rebecca knew what was coming before it even hit her, and gave in as the black rushed up to engulf her aching body.

When she came too, Rebecca was in a torchlit chamber, slumped against the backboard of a very comfortable bed. Her vision swam back into place reluctantly, the door and curtains still swaying if she looked at them too long.

"You're awake."

She turned her head to identify the speaker and immediately regretted it. Pain shot through the base of her skull and she winced as her eyes landed on Felix, seated in a chair beside her.

"How long was I out?" she groaned.

Felix pulled a dripping rag from a bowl on the bedside table. "Only the night. We were worried you might have a concussion."

"I think I do." she murmured. "Do I get my 100 gold back?"

"You didn't bet 100 gold."

"I know," she waved a hand as if brushing off his dismissal of her attempt at humour. "Surprisingly, that was the best sleep I've had in a week."

Felix chuckled, raising the rag to a cut on her forehead. Rebecca caught him midair on impulse, gripping his wrist before he could make contact. He lowered his hand as she relinquished her grip. "For Mara's sake, Rebecca!" he sighed. "I'm trying to help."

She blinked slowly, taking the bowl and rag from him and dabbing at the crusted blood around her nose. The liquid in the bowl glowed pink, and made her skin tingle on contact. With a crack, her nose snapped back into place, making her cry out. Felix reached out again and she batted him away.

"You shouldn't be doing that yourself." he glared. Rebecca grew tired of the whining note in his voice, and growled as she handed him back the bowl. "Well get Feraldur then!" she snapped.

"What, I can't take care of you?" he asked, his voice raised.

"No, you can't!" Rebecca scoffed. You forced herself to meet his caramel-coloured eyes dead on as she delivered the final blow. "You've proven that once already."

Felix looked confused, but had just enough wit to be offended. A cloudy film of pain descended over his eyes as they searched hers for some kind of meaning. Of course he didn't know, she thought. He could never admit that it was his fault. Even though he hadn't fully understood her, Rebecca felt as though a weight had been lifted just to finally place some blame somewhere other than on her own shoulders.

"You shouldn't have started a fight you knew you couldn't win." he frowned. "It was reckless." His childish features had taken on a strangely wearied look that didn't suit him. When had he developed that gleam of disapproval? It made her both uncomfortable and confused, to watch Felix the Fortunate morph into Felix the disappointed-father-figure before her eyes.

"How do you know I couldn't win?" she retorted. "I just got too close." She felt like a simpering toddler, arms crossed and refusing to look at him. Felix gave another lengthy sigh that made her brow twitch in irritation.

"We both know that's not true." he told her firmly. She shot him daggers, annoyed to find that his expression had morphed into one of paternal concern. "You're not strong enough to face her, not yet anyway."

His patronising tone made her growl aloud. "Oh, Felix! Would you just fuck off?"

Again, that wounded puppy expression. Again, that look of pity, as though he were the bigger man, and she was stuck with her thumb in her mouth and her wounded pride to tend to. And maybe there was some truth in that - maybe he didn't deserve the guilt she laid at his feet for what had happened. But something irreparable had come between them that night, as solid as a standing stone.

As he cast his eyes to the floor she felt a familiar image flash across her mind. Arms outstretched, gagged and pleading, inches away…it was a scene she replayed every night. And every night he failed. Every night he slept peacefully while she was carried away and broken. So in the end, perhaps blame had nothing to do with it. Perhaps it was simply the association that she couldn't bare. But the cause didn't really matter. The truth was that things could never be the same.

Felix stood and made to leave, halting as he reached the door.

"I'm sorry, princess."

Shoulders slumped, defeated, he stepped outside and disappeared from view as she let her head fall back against the pillows. Despite the beating she had taken last night, this one felt like the real fight. A single tear wet her bruised cheek, but was not followed by the usual flood of emotion. She allowed her body to sink into the soft mattress as her eyes rolled back and darkness returned for her.

It had been a long time since he'd called her princess.

Her sleep was restless, and punctuated by grabbing hands materialising from the darkness, and a cold, high-pitched cackle that bounced around her skull. When she awoke again it was morning, and T'ariq was seated at her bedside. He purred as she sat up, not wincing this time.

"How do you feel, little kit?"

"Ok, actually." Rebecca balled her hands into fists, pleased to feel no groan of protest from her muscles. Her head wasn't pounding anymore, either. "Did Feraldur come in at some point?"

T'ariq shook his head. "We thought it would be best to let you sleep. It has been a while, no?" His raspy voice softened at the end of this last sentence, and Rebecca gave him a grateful look. "Yes. Well, I think I needed it. So thank you."

Her eyes drifted down to a small, folded piece of parchment clasped between his claws.

"What's that?"

"Oh, this," he unfolded it and gave it to her. Her eyes still ached as they moved across the scrawling script on the letter, but she could read it just fine. "The Potema is back. Or she never left - this one is not quite sure." T'ariq nodded. At the bottom was the official seal of Falk Firebeard, the steward at the Blue Palace, and beneath that the Imperial dragon. She had been expecting this letter, but hadn't realised it would arrive so suddenly. They had only just returned from Wolfskull Cave! Then again, she had been asleep for almost two days.

"They asked for us? Is the Arrow not coming?" she queried. T'ariq let slip a smirk.

"They have requested the both of us, due to the… 'severity of the mission'," he read, glancing down at the letter. "Although, I must tell you that the man is not happy."

"Of course he isn't." Rebecca chuckled. She probably wouldn't have been too happy either, if she was the Black Arrow. But she knew from experience that the Potema quest was no joke; it would be good to have an extra set of hands.

After a brief injury assessment from Feraldur, Rebecca was cleared to help fight through the Solitude Catacombs, provided that she stay beside one of the others at all times. Felix had shifted from patronising parent to child once again, and found any excuse not to speak to her as they spent their new coin on supplies for the quest. Rebecca finally knuckled down and improved her alchemical abilities, buying some ingredients and mixing a few health potions herself, under the approving eye of her High Elf mentor.

They also visited Beirand, the local smithy, for a new set of armour, painting a grin on Rebecca that stuck all morning. She changed into it immediately, half-hoping to bump into her Altmer counterpart so that she could show off. But Aletheia was nowhere to be found - she assumed that the duplicate Dragonborn was already at the Thalmor Embassy, conversing with Elenwen and leaving her mark on their cold halls. Although she was jealous of the elf's prowess and ability, Rebecca was more than happy to have skipped out on that particular quest. Being the type of player that she was, the Thalmor with their magic fingers and bound swords had always been a troublesome enemy to tackle, and pretending to mingle with them was even worse.

By the time the sun had risen to its height, they were all set to meet Styrr and Arrow at the entrance to Potema's catacombs. The heavily armoured company earned several suspicious glances as they marched along the rows of pews in the Temple of the Divines, ignoring the eight shrines in their alcoves, and heading straight downstairs to the cursed crypts. They found Arrow, wearing the same fur-lined black cloak from their last excursion, waiting patiently by the gate. He received Rebecca's blackened eye and split lip with a smirk.

"I would ask if you gave as good as you got," he said. "But word around town says that isn't even half true."

"I see they didn't trust you enough to take care of this on your own?" she returned. The glimmer of amusement in his cold eyes faded, and the scowl returned. "Make no mistake, I'm here because Falk asked me to be. That's all."

Rebecca rolled her eyes and drew her sword.

"C'mon then," she said, taking the first step inside the misty tunnels. "Those draugr aren't gonna slay themselves."


	24. Chapter 24

The crypts were cold and damp, and reeked of death. Withered moss draped the stoney walls, and in every corner a spider web lurked, covered in a thick layer of dust. Their footsteps echoed through the catacomb, weapons scraping in the narrow hallways, setting everyone's teeth on edge. Even Rebecca, who had fought her way through the Wolf Queen quest ten times or more, found herself peering into the shadows, as though a draugr could leap at them from any dimly-lit alcove.

Arrow took the lead, Rebecca close behind him and T'ariq behind her. There was only enough room in these tunnels to walk in a single file line, ratcheting up her fear as the space closed in on them. Angmar and the Arrow had to bow their heads to avoid a thorough scraping.

They hadn't gone far when they were halted in their tracks by a cruel laugh that resonated throughout the chamber.

"You've arrived at last," it chuckled. Rebecca could almost picture the wicked woman behind those poisonous words, beaming from ear to ear with a satanic energy. "The hero who prevented me from being bound returns to my fold. I have much to thank you for, little one. When you die I will raise you, and you can take your place by my side."

A steel gate beside them swung open. Arrow narrowed his eyes and readied his bow. The rest of the crew shared an uncertain glance before following him down the hallway. In a nook before them, a draugr rested, upright and arms crossed. Rebecca was about to warn their frontman, but he had no need of her caution. The draugr's eyes were open for barely a heartbeat before an ebony arrow pierced its undead heart and it fell forward with a thud. The Black Arrow moved past it, but Rebecca, not too proud to loot, felt around its wrinkled skin for a few gold coins tucked under the breastplate.

A sudden flash of deja vu hit her as they emerged at the top of an open room.

"Wait!" she hissed at Arrow before he could step forward, pulling her own bow from her back and nocking an arrow. She took a deep breath and aimed at the rope above a ceramic pot hung from the ceiling. The arrow flew true, and the pot came crashing down atop a shallow pool of oil in which two draugr and a vampire were standing. Rebecca shielded her eyes as the pot smashed and Potema's guardians were submerged in a crackling wall of flames.

When the heat died down, she made to move forward, catching the glimmer of curiosity in Arrow's eye before he turned his focus back to the crypts. He once again moved ahead whilst the others searched the room for spare coins and pocketed books, hearing a grunt and several groans from the tunnels into which he had continued.

A thunderous growl sounded next to Rebecca's ear. She let out a scream as a cold, leathery pair of hands encircled her neck. But they relinquished their grip before a heartbeat had passed. The draugr fell back into the coffin from which it had emerged, with an arrow through one eye.

The crew had raised their weapons, Felix with his swords and Feraldur with electricity crackling between his long, golden fingers. But they turned instead to see Arrow scowling in the doorway. "Come on." he growled. And with that, he whirled around, his cape billowing out behind him as he stalked back into the tunnels. T'ariq, who had rushed to Rebecca's side as soon as he heard her scream, pulled the arrow from the draugr's skull.

"He is really a good shot," he remarked. "It is no wonder how he got this name."

"Sure," Felix snorted, taking the ebony from the khajiit's hand and pocketing it. "But what kind of arrogant ass doesn't collect his own arrows?"

"Rebecca rolled her eyes and followed him into the shadows once more, entering a room half-submerged in water, where two draugr bodies lay floating on the surface. Felix swaggered confidently up to the gate in front of which the thane was standing.

"Looks like it can be opened," he remarked importantly. "Must be some kind of hidden switch around here some-"

There was a grinding of metal on stone as the bars sunk into the ground. Felix glanced behind him to see Arrow standing beside a large silver lever just feet away. He growled and stalked off into the tunnel, muttering obscenities as he went.

The next room was eerily devoid of vampires, lined instead with sleek black coffins. A thin veil of mist seemed to curl around their feet, lending the chamber a supernatural quality, as though Potema herself was watching.

The company gathered by the door, planning their attack. "Everyone take a coffin." Rebecca commanded. Arrow looked surprised to see a group of warriors taking the orders of a young woman, but nonetheless he complied. When the tops of the coffins popped off to reveal their undead boon, six swords were plunged into their pale bodies, and they sighed back into their eternal slumber. The next few rooms were no trouble to them, and they picked up both coin and the occasional weapons as they stormed through, hoping to sell them at Bits Pieces for a bit on the side. It was only when they emerged onto a familiar-looking open space that Rebecca felt her insides start to coil with dread.

In the centre of the room was a grate, covering a long drop that looked as though it could swing open at any moment. Across from them were two thrones. One was empty, but on the other sat a heavily armoured draugr, thick as a frost troll and wearing a blackened helmet with mean, curling horns protruding from its crown. As they stepped into the light, a man with shaggy blonde hair wearing black robes emerged, clutching a waraxe.

"You've come far, mortal." he grinned in the torchlight. "No doubt you seek to enter Potema's Sanctum. I can see to that. We'll need plenty of fresh corpses to rebuild her army, you see."

"Not a chance." Angmar spat. With Felix beside them, the two men threw themselves into battle, blades swinging and slicing at the man as he attempted to fend them off with blasts of ice and fire. Rebecca wanted to jump in and help, but was held back by an arm from the Arrow. Her eyes followed his gaze and landed upon the draugr at the end of the room, now stood and snarling, his glowing eyes trained on them.

An ice spike was immediately cast, finding its mark in his chest. But it seemed not to deter the beast one bit. Rebecca had to assume that this was a deathlord or higher; his ebony blade glinted maliciously in the flickering light as it was raised over T'ariq's head.

Rebecca rushed forward to plunge her sword in his side, receiving an elbow to the face as the creature turned to identify this newest opponent. His icy gaze turned to her, baring a blackened set of teeth in a sickening smile just before an arrow pierced his shoulder and sent him stumbling backwards. T'ariq took the opportunity to slash into his neck, joining Feraldur as they combined their flames to light him up. Meanwhile Arrow rushed to pull her to her feet and away from the heat of the battle. The pair watched in horror as the draugr gave a mighty shout, sending both the spellswords flying to the back of the room. It stood again, head now hanging from a thin set of severed tendons and its skin crackling in the heat of the fire that had engulfed its body.

And yet it still found the strength to stumble forward, turning its eye to Felix and Angmar, who had now finished with the fight with Potema's thrall and were standing triumphantly over his lifeless body. Rebecca gave a scream of warning that fell on deaf ears as the draugr's blade came slicing down into Felix. He cried out and fell to one knee, blood smattering the ancient Nordic breastplate as the draugr gave a vicious snarl of triumph. The blade still submerged in Felix's thigh, Angmar took the opportunity to swing his mighty hammer, knocking the deathlord's head clean off his body.

"Shit, Felix!" Rebecca rushed forward to the boy, kneeling next to him to examine the wound. The blade was sunk deep into his flesh, and was oozing hot, sticky blood. She was wondering how anything could be so dark, before being forced to throw her hands out, catching Felix as he collapsed beside her.

"It's alright, I can fix this." Feraldur took his rapidly paling body from her arms, immediately coating himself in blood as he frowned. "Everybody step back, please."

Rebecca had to bury her head in T'ariq's chest as the greatsword was removed with a tearing of flesh. Felix was instantly revitalised, returning to consciousness with a screech of anguish that made the onlookers wince. T'ariq wrapped his arms around Rebecca as Feraldur's hands glowed gold, running all up and down the thigh in an attempt to stop the flood of bleeding that had commenced. Felix's yelling subsided and he slumped against his healer, panting. The Altmer's brow had furrowed deeply by the time he glanced back up at the remaining warriors. "Go on without us. I'll stay here to tend to his wound." he demanded.

Rebecca tried not to look at Felix's white face, the way his freckles had faded and his eyes were fluttering erratically, as she crawled toward the body of the thrall and retrieved the key for Potema's sanctum.

"Is he going to be ok?" Rebecca asked, her eyes brimming with regret as they trekked on through the darkening tunnels.

"T'ariq is sure of it, little kit," the khajiit purred, tousling her hair affectionately. "The elf is more than skilled in the ways of healing magic. He fixed you, remember?"

But although his words rang true, Rebecca couldn't help but notice the twinge of guilt in his muzzle, the way he didn't quite meet his eyes when he spoke.

"Never mind him - what were _you_ doing back there?"

Rebecca blinked in surprise as Arrow appeared at her side, frowning. "You rushed in headfirst. And excuse me for saying so, but you don't exactly look like a capable enough warrior to be making such rash decisions in battle."

Rebecca shook her head, too tired to be obstinate. "I know. It's what Angmar and I keep practicing," she gestured to the burly Reachman behind her. "I always get too close."

Arrow's glare softened as he took in her hunched shoulders. "If the problem is getting too close, why not just stay back?" he suggested.

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, you're not a bad shot." he admitted, meeting her gaze. Now that she had been up close and personal with her fair share of draugr, she realised that she had been wrong about those eyes. They mirrored the orbs of the undead only in their brightness. But where the draugr's eyes were cold, his had flecks of warm turquoise that reminded her of portholes on a ship, looking out at the rolling sea.

"Why don't you ditch close combat and stick to sniping?" he added, turning his attention to the low-levelled draugr that the others were fighting ahead. He loosed a single arrow and looked back at her, eyebrows raised as if expecting an answer.

"Uh, yeah," she responded, jolting back to life and tearing her eyes away from him. "Y'know what? Maybe that's not such a bad idea."

Another came sprinting out of the darkness towards them. Two bows were drawn as the pair stared down their enemy. Arrow was faster, but Rebecca's shot landed as intended just the same. He gave her a half-smile over his shoulder as he removed the steel arrow she had fired from the draugr's breastplate.

"Not a bad idea at all." he chuckled, handing her back the arrow. Rebecca was a little unnerved at seeing a spark of humour light his brooding features, but couldn't afford to stop and ponder. He moved ahead, spurring her back to life. And she certainly didn't want to be left behind in these haunted tunnels, especially with two of their team already down.

They arrived at the final chamber faster than expected. Rebecca took a deep breath as they emerged into a two-tiered hall absolutely stuffed with coffins. In the centre of the room, raised above both levels, was a swirling purple beacon of light in the rough shape of a woman.

"Oh dear," Rebecca murmured.

"T'ariq has a bad feeling about this."

With a deep breath, Rebecca stepped inside of the hall, feeling the penetrating stare of the figure turn upon her with the intensity of a searchlight. The others fanned out, assessing the structure of the hall. "Ok, Angmar, T'ariq, you take the bottom level. Arrow and I will stay on top, sniping in a stationary position. We don't want to wake too many at once," Rebecca whispered hurriedly. "As long as we all stay spread out, and don't let them overwhelm us, we should be ok."

The words were hardly out of her mouth before a powerful voice thundered around them, echoing off the inside of the hall and their own skulls simultaneously.

"You've come far, mortal," Potema boomed. "But can you stand against my inner council?"

Rebecca swore she saw a grin on the face of glowing figure. "Let's see!"

She raised a fist and sent a bolt of lightning crashing down toward them, searing the tips of Angmar's ponytail. "Oh, and avoid that!" Rebecca yelled as they split. Four coffins popped open, their lids crashing to the ground as their inhabitants revealed themselves. Two plain draugr and a couple of scourges, it looked like. Angmar and T'ariq rushed down to meet them, swords raised, as the archers ran to their corners and took aim. Rebecca fired at one of the weaker ones and saw it drop to its knee just before a crackle of lightning forced her to duck. When she rose again, T'ariq had slain the first undead guardian, and was battling ferociously with the scourge, who appeared to wield an ebony longsword.

She was moments from loosing another arrow when a blow struck her bow and knocked her to the ground. Above her was a spitting, snarling draugr, his ancient sword raised to strike again.

 **"FUS!"**

Her shout sent him stumbling, and in the pause, Rebecca got to her feet and sliced his head clean off with her blade. Trying not to be disturbed by the rotting sinew she had exposed, she kicked the corpse to the tier below.

"Arrow!" she yelled, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the clashing of steel and growling of the undead. He pulled another arrow from his quiver buts glanced across to let her know he was listening. "They're on our level!" She pointed at the draugr that had awoken at the other end of the hall and were searching for their targets. Down below, T'ariq let out a yowl of pain as he was struck by a bolt that left the tips of his ears singed.

Arrow nodded and turned his focus to the platform ahead of him, cutting down the draugr with bolt after bolt until he was close enough to deliver the fatal blow. Rebecca tried to copy him, but found herself simply backing away until she was far enough to fire from a distance. The last body hit the ground, but it was far from over. More coffins opened and all at once their strategy collapsed. Rebecca was forced down to the lower level, firing up at the advancing hordes until she backed into Angmar. The Reachman swung round with a murderous glow in his eyes, his warhammer raised. For a second she was convinced that he was about to swing at her, before she heard a crunch and turned to find the draugr closest to her with a dented skull. Rebecca nodded her thanks to him before ducking her way through the bodies to find some space in which to fire. A sack of wrinkled flesh fell against her with an arrow in its side. She stood to shove it off, a shiver running down her spine, she saw T'ariq up on the platform next to Arrow.

"Get down!" shouted the Khajiit. Rebecca practically threw herself on the floor, just in time to watch T'ariq light a flame at the tip of an ebony arrow. It was fired right beside her, landing with a hiss in a draugr's arm and setting him aflame. Rebecca had a sudden brainwave and pushed him into the crowd, screaming at Angmar to get out of the way as the creatures fell into a smouldering pile. Just as she reached the stairs, T'ariq seemed to catch on, and sent several giant fireballs into the writhing mound. The screeches were ear-splitting, and the smell of charred flesh somehow even worse than its decaying counterpart, but it did the job. Panting, the group shared glances of mutual relief, laughing nervously as though they weren't sure whether it was over or not.

Sure enough, the purple light intensified and flew out of the room, opening a set of doors to their left. At the top of a staircase they watched the spirit form of Potema rise from her throne, her crown lopsided on her head and her transparent robes flowing out behind her. Two arrows immediately sent her stumbling her back onto the throne, followed by a battle cry as Angmar raced up the stairs with his hammer raised, bringing it down on the Wolf Queen's head. The blue outline faded in time for his blow to travel through the apparition, crushing the yellowed skull that remained in her place.

Angmar turned to face them, sweat dripping from his hairline. He held out the pieces of Potema's skull with a sheepish grin.

"Well, at least we know she won't be coming back again."


End file.
